


Sparks

by AuthenticAussie



Series: and we can watch the stars on the water [60]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:05:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6653476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthenticAussie/pseuds/AuthenticAussie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco’s not all too keen on soulmates.</p><p>He used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the worst laid plans

**Author's Note:**

> Look here is another one look look look I wrote _two_ (and died. I totally died, I am going to be afk and attempting to recover for at _least_ a month guys xD //lol lies).
> 
> Anyway, shout out to the gorgeous lolles, silmil, and my awesome, awesome big bang partner Ezaria!!! <333
> 
> Please drop a review if you enjoy itttt ;u;

_“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”_

\-          _Alfred Lord Tennyson_

* * *

There are a lot of people who think that Ace and Marco’s soulbond is broken.

Marco is one of them.

* * *

He meets Ace when he’s twelve. Ace is a few years younger, with squishy cheeks and a sweaty palm, and Roger laughs uproariously when Marco’s hand spits Sparks. He can feel his heart leap, and a smile start to stretch his mouth at the strange electricity that runs along his hand, but Ace is only frowning at him, and suddenly, strangely, Marco knows something is wrong.

Rouge looks at Ace with her brow knit carefully, her hand laid on Ace’s shoulder, and he glances back at her, looking small and scared. She kneels by him, voice dropping to a low whisper, and Marco feels his stomach knot as he steps backwards and tries to find his dad. His dad will explain it – will explain everything. Whitebeard is good at that.

When he finds his dad in the mess of his younger brothers, though, Whitebeard looks as troubled as Rouge; even Roger’s usual smile has dribbled off his face, and everyone is staring at Marco, some weird twist of emotions on their faces that Marco almost can’t identify.

It seems almost like pity.

“It’s fine,” Whitebeard is saying, and his hand gently squeezes Marco’s shoulder, but Marco’s still stuck trying to figure out _why_ they look so devastated and why they’re trying to hide it from him. ‘It will be fine, Rouge. Roger.”

Rouge’s face has a funny little crinkle in it, something he’s never seen on her usually always-smiling face, and Marco can’t help but stare, knowing this has something to do with why everyone is avoiding looking at him and Ace, like the both of them are pointedly invisible spots.

“Pops?” he questions, tugging on Whitebeard’s large sleeve, but Whitebeard only settles his large hand on Marco’s, forcing him to stop.

Whitebeard slowly crouches in front of him, bushy brows drawn, and when he speaks it is careful and slow. “Marco, I think Ace is going to go home now.”

“But-!” Marco protests, and for some reason his heart aches at the thought, “He’s my soulmate!”

“No I’m not.”  

Marco jolts at the tiny voice. It’s stubborn, just the edge of sliding under the childish determination to speak properly, but he can’t help but focus on the voice instead of the words, like if he listens to the tone he can ignore what’s been said.

Whitebeard’s hand tightens on his shoulder.

“I think it’s time for Ace to go home now,” he repeats again, and this time Roger carefully picks up Ace and they breeze from the house with what sounds like a quiet apology and the waft of Rouge’s perfume.

“Pops?” Marco tries again, and can feel his voice crack just a little, wavering.

Whitebeard looks like his heart is breaking at the sound, and Marco tries to stand a little taller, trying not to think about the fact he’d caused that expression. His pops musters a smile that looks too thin to be real, a placating comfort that Marco doesn’t want to recognise. “Don’t worry, son.” Whitebeard says, gently rubbing his thumb on Marco’s shoulder. “You’re soulmates.”

(He says that a lot over the years, when Marco confesses that he doesn’t think Ace loves him, or will ever love him. _You’re soulmates._

Marco’s never sure how to tell Whitebeard that he’s wrong. Never sure he even wants to, heart longing for the day when Whitebeard could be right.)  

* * *

When Marco is thirteen, he starts wearing gloves. He can’t stand touching Ace and feeling a Spark jump on his skin, envying the warmth it brings before his heart goes cold as Ace stiffens awkwardly.

It’s hardly been more than a year, and yet he can’t help himself from falling for Ace; every time Ace smiles he can feel his heart do a stupid jump. Every time Ace’s eyes pull at the edges when he pouts makes Marco feel heady, and every time Ace’s mouth is tilted down in an upset frown, Marco can feel his fists clench.

It isn’t _fair_ that Ace can do these things to him and not even realise it; not notice the effect he has on Marco with the simple emotions written on his face, and Marco _hates_ it. He hates being able to read Ace like a book, hates the fact that they’re slowly becoming friends.

That’s the awful bit, really. That they’re friends.

It’s not even like Marco can pretend Ace secretly hates him, or is a robot or something, and that’s why he hadn’t Sparked.    

Ace just simply isn’t in love with Marco.

Sometimes, on the bad days, Marco wishes he wasn’t falling in love with Ace either. He wishes that they weren’t, somehow, irrevocably broken.

And sometimes, on the worst of the bad days, he thinks that he knows it’s not him so it has to be Ace, and that-

That thought makes him angry. It makes him feel like he should blame Ace, considering that it’s Ace’s fault for all of this. For the fact that Marco’s one chance has been wasted on someone who will probably never, ever love him back, that he’s going to spend his life knowing who his soulmate is but forever unable to reach them.

It’d be different if he were like Izo, completely unperturbed by Sparks and soulmates, easily confident in the Magic he wields instead, but Marco has Sparked and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Somehow, though, wishing he was like Izo makes him feel sick inside. Izo has his own problems, his own crippling loneliness when people don’t understand what it means to be him, and Marco detests himself for the seconds he wishes that Ace were gone so he’d never have to worry about the pain his soulmate brings.

Ace isn’t perfect, he knows that, but at the same time it’s not his fault that the universe is playing a gigantic joke on Marco. It’s not fair that Marco is blaming Ace for something he has no control over-

And yet, though he hates himself for the wishes, he can never get himself to stop.

He truly detests those wishes, because he knows that if he ever mentioned them to Izo, Izo would try and make them come true, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

His brother could grant his wish, but Marco’s never sure if he wants it to come true or not.

Whitebeard read him a poem one night that’s stayed with him for years. It’s short, but the words ring in his head whenever he wishes that Ace wasn’t his soulmate; _Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all._

Well Marco’s fallen in love, and he’s easily lost it all. He’s not so sure about the last part, but sometimes there are good days (and they get more frequent as he slowly grows older, buries the longing under happiness that Ace considers Marco his best friend), and he thinks that maybe he understands.

They’re not anywhere near perfect, but Marco is trying.

And he’s never going to let go of the hope that Ace will one day stop, Marco’s name on his lips, and realise he’s been in love for years.  

* * *

Marco’s not all too keen on soulmates.

He used to be.

He used to be, used to believe in them with all his heart, used to love the stories told, used to wonder what a Spark would feel like and what colour his would be and how long his soulmate’s fingers would be and if it’d happen when they shook hands, or if Marco would literally bump into them and colourful electricity would surge between them.

It feels, somehow, like a betrayal. Like the universe has seen what he wants, more than anything in the world, and has decided that he won’t ever be able to have it.

He tries to banish thoughts of Ace by dating other people, and Whitebeard holds his tongue; but his expression flashes with such disappointment that Marco, for a brief moment, will always regret falling in love with Ace. Regrets ever thinking that trying to get Ace out of his head will work without causing pain, because it has and it does and he hates it.

Whitebeard starts to look at him like he should’ve had this all figured out by now, given that it’s been almost six years, but Marco is head over heels and Ace is still walking straight, so Marco is doing everything he can to get Sparks and soulmates out of his head.

When Whitebeard finally starts to say to him, “ You’ll fall in love with him soon,” Marco doesn’t tell him _but I already have_ because then Whitebeard’s going to question why he’s given up on trying to get Ace to fall in love with him, but the only plan he has-

His stupid plan is to somehow make Ace _jealous,_ as if that will work to someone so inherently supportive of all of Marco’s choices.

He’s tired of it. Of trying to do something that has never worked before, he’s an ocean meeting the shore only the shoreline is always the same and he’s sick of throwing himself against the sand and dragging himself away.

So he’s not going to ruin it now. Ruin his friendship for something that isn’t working, for something Fate decreed years before they were born;

Marco Sparked.

Ace didn’t.

* * *

There are moments over the years (little ones, ones he can steal without them being missed,) where Ace will grin at him widely and beg to go for a ride on Marco’s motorbike, and he’ll cave easily; pretends, for just a little moment, that Ace’s arms wrapped round his waist are meant to be there.

* * *

He's been in love with Ace for more than half his life when Sabo shows up.

They actually get along quite well, at first; Ace introduces them, citing Sabo as someone he’d met at Uni, and Marco quite enjoys his witty company. Sabo is polite to the point of flattery, but his tongue is quick and sharp rather than silver. Though he wears thick glasses and oversized grandfather sweaters, his wit more than makes up for how he buries his attractiveness.

Ace flushes when that quick tongue turns on him, and Sabo grins at the colour.

That should’ve been the first warning bell.

But Marco-

Marco’s too set in comfortable knowledge to even think about it. He’s used to everyone knowing that Ace was meant to be his (even if it doesn’t – isn’t – working out), and so Sabo breezing past the situation doesn’t set off any alarms.

It isn’t until Ace asks why Sabo wears gloves that Marco realises what’s happened, and by then it’s much too late.

As Sabo pauses Marco can’t help but feel his sticky palms, wrapped in bike leather, and wonders if Sabo has someone he doesn’t want to love, too. He wonders if Sabo would want to talk about it, if they could trade tips-

But Sabo’s words put a stop to that thought.

“I think soulmates are quite archaic. The thought of being forced to chose someone to fall for without first getting to know them, and having to trust a system that’s already been proven flawed-”

Sabo trails off, laughing almost awkwardly as he rubs the back of his head, but Ace just looks rapturous, and Marco can feel his heart sink and sink and sink.

That’s warning bell number two, only by that point there’s nothing he can do.

Sabo is everything that Marco isn’t, and Ace has already proven he doesn’t want to fall in love with Marco.  

He’s not even sure that Ace realises it, because Ace never seems to realise these things, but Marco has been sitting on the sidelines all his life and he knows Ace better than the back of his hand; he can see the slow fall, the hesitant longing.

It’s strange to think that this used to be him. That he was the one with a smile just barely grazing his lips when he saw Ace, stomach twisted into knots.

One of the most awful parts about watching Ace fall, however, is that Sabo is persistently hard to detest. Marco’s tried, feels obligated to hate the guy who’s slowly and steadily pulling Ace away, but he-   

He’s been tired of this fight for a long time now, and so now all he can think is _at least Ace is happy._

* * *

Ace has known for a very, very long time that he has the coolest mom in the world. For one thing, one time she beat up a thief that’d broken into their home with only a broom, all the while swearing at the guy in angry Spanish.

He can attribute _much_ of his knowledge of Spanish insults to that incident.

For another: this incident, right here.

It’s the first time Sabo has visited his house, and Ace has only given his mom about five minute’s warning that Sabo’s coming, and yet, somehow, magically, she’s cleared away enough of Ace’s ongoing art project so they can all crowd around the kitchen table and chatter.

Of course, it’s slightly problematic at first because Ace is so used to slipping in and out of Spanish with his mom, but Sabo’s smart and Ace first met him at Spanish tutoring, anyway, so it’s not like he won’t pick up _some_ of what they’re talking about.

(“He’s learning two languages, did I mention that, mom?”

“Oh?” Rouge says, with this tiny smile playing over her lips and in her eyes, but Ace just doesn’t notice.)

Rouge offers to make them brownies, to which Ace eagerly agrees and Sabo looks stunned by, and Ace drags Sabo up to his room, intent on fulfilling his promise. Sabo’s come to him to look great on his date with Law, and Ace would gladly help with whatever Sabo asked.

Well, he’d help all his friends if they wanted it, of course. It’s not just _Sabo_ in particular that he’d do anything for.

He shakes his head, unsure as to why he’s suddenly trying to justify this, and turns his attention back to what Sabo has bought him to work with and what Ace knows is in his own closet. He’s thankful they’re both relatively close in size, even if he does have slightly more muscle than Sabo does.

With an appraising eye he tries to figure out what he could mix-and-match together for Sabo, before eventually deciding on a dark grey pair of skinny jeans and a light blue shirt with a dragon on it that Sabo’s been eyeing off with bated breath since he stepped inside Ace’s bedroom.

Then, he flaps his hands and shoos Sabo off to get changed, waiting impatiently for Sabo to return.

Ace grins to himself at Sabo’s outfit when he finally gets back, hesitating almost nervously at the door, fingers twisting in the hem of Ace’s shirt. “Looking _gooooood_!” he calls triumphantly, and Sabo’s face turns an adorable shade of pink.

With the colour comes a tightening of his fingers, though, and his hands skim his scars, picking at the edges and almost itching at the skin as he tries to cover them. Ace can feel a little frown on his face before a clever idea hits. He grabs his jacket from where he’d chucked it on the bed, glad that Rouge’d washed it yesterday, and steps forwards to slide it onto Sabo’s shoulders.

Sabo blinks at him, and Ace makes an impatient gesture, watching as Sabo obediently hurries to slot his hands through the sleeves. When he’s done, Ace pushes the sleeves up a bit and grins comfortingly at Sabo before he takes a step back to see how his jacket fits with the rest of the outfit. He has other jackets he can use if this doesn’t go well, but he figured he may as well try-

“Do I- look okay?” Sabo asks, shifting nervously, and Ace feels his eyes go wide at how fucking _cute_ that action is, and how _well_ he can pull off the outfit Ace has made for him. It makes his heart tighten in his chest, in a way that it’s never, ever done before, and Ace finds himself utterly speechless. His mouth feels dry, eyes tracing the line of Sabo’s shoulders in his jacket and the rolled up sleeves and the tight jeans and the literally _everything_ that makes up Sabo, and his brain feels almost as though it’s short-circuited, refusing to work.

“Ace?” Sabo asks, now looking even more worried, and Ace quickly shakes his head, shutting his gaping mouth closed with a click.

“Yeah! Yeah, Sabo,” he says hurriedly, offering Sabo a grin and trying not to think about what’d caused his sudden muteness. “You look- you look really great.”

Sabo flushes even redder. Ace very very firmly tries to get his head to shut up, because for some reason it’s yelling at him and most of the words go something along the lines of, _“holy shit he looks so great in my jacket, he’s so cute, oh my god I want to kiss him, could I kiss him? I could totally kiss him, I want to kiss him-”_

Hesitantly, Ace takes a step forwards, and Sabo doesn’t move, lets him close enough to almost touch, lets him close enough to catch the minuet flicker of his eyes to Ace’s lips-

“Do you think Law will like it?” Sabo blurts, and Ace freezes, the words almost like a giant ice bucket straight over his head. It’s almost as though Sabo’s trying to remind himself, but his words have bought Ace back to reality and he can feel his own body heat in embarrassment as he quickly brushes past Sabo, reaching for the cupboard and grabbing a beanie that he jams over his own head, covering his burning ears.

“Yeah, Sab. He’ll love it, I’m sure. You look great.”

“You don’t think-”

“Sabo, you look fine. I promise. I wouldn’t set you wrong on this, okay?” he tries to offer a disarming smile, but for some reason it’s not as easy as it should be and he finds himself swallowing through a tight throat. “You should probably get going. Don’t you have to meet him at six?”

Sabo jumps a little, startled, and his eyes immediately dart to his watch. Ace can see the moment realisation of the time hits, and then Sabo is grabbing his boots and trying to hop and pull them on at the same time, escaping Ace’s room. “Thank you so much for your help!” he calls as he almost trips down the stairs, and Ace can’t help laughing.

“Have fun!” he calls, and it feels like he means it, but at the same time-

Sabo disappears out the front door, and Ace takes two steps back, flopping onto his bed with a low groan and grabbing for his pillow. Clutching it to his chest, he tries to figure out what to do with the stupid feeling that has taken up residency near his heart.

Or, rather, his realisation of said stupid feeling.

It’s…weirdly comfortable, the funny twist that comes to his heart when he thinks about Sabo, and thought it edges painful, the emotion still brings a smile to his face. However, thinking about Sabo leads him to thinking about Sabo and Law, and he buries his face in his pillow, groaning again. The uplifting feeling that has twisted his heart almost seems to twist too far, and bubbling happiness transforms to bitter longing.

It _hurts,_ like nothing seems to have really hurt so far, and he doesn’t know _why,_ only knows it in the weird conjunction of Sabo, and kissing, and-

_Oh my god,_ he thinks, eyes opening wide at the realisation that suddenly hits him. _I like him._

He scrambles for his phone, flicks it on, and before he can even think he’s dialled Marco’s number and is waiting impatiently for Marco to pick up. Ace hears the quiet murmur of Marco’s voice, and doesn’t even wait for him to finish, starting with a frenzied, “Marco, I-!”

Then, he stops. Indecision crawls on the tip of his tongue like an itch, the words he’s about to say hovering on the edge like they’re poised on a see-saw.  

“Ace?” Marco enquires, making a confused noise in the back of his throat, but Ace has already swallowed back the words and stammers,  

“I- helped Sabo. Get ready for a date.”

“Yeah...?” Marco says, sounding even more bewildered. “And-?”

“Well- I- see the thing is-” he starts, and he’s unsure how to explain what he wants, but Marco usually gets him anyway and so he blurts, “he’s going on a date with Law! And I’m worried! What if something bad happens?”

“Just because I only ever tell you about the times my own dates fail, doesn’t mean that _all_ dates are likely to do that, yoi.” Marco drawls, the hint of a teasing tone in his voice, and Ace doesn’t mention that technically _all_ of Marco’s dates have been failures, because he never seems to go on more than one. "Ace, just trust him. I'm sure the date will go well."

"I- but I don’t think I want it to go well, Marco."

"Well that's not very nice."

"I _know_." Ace says with a groan, burying his face in his hands.

Marco sighs, the sound crackling through the phone line, and Ace feels his nose crinkle and lips fall into a frown.

“Well, what do you want to do about it?” Marco asks. “I mean, it’s not like you can just follow them around and sabotage it, yoi.”

Ace freezes, brain tickled with the edge of an idea. He can totally do that; he can be sneaky, and it wouldn’t be _sabotage,_ per say, just innocent meddling where able. Just to make sure that Law didn’t hurt Sabo, that was all.

Make the date a bit more interesting.

“Ace?” Marco says, sounding as though this is one of the many times he’s tried to get Ace’s attention, and he finally snaps his thoughts away from his plans, feeling a grin on his cheeks.

“Hey, so, are you free this evening?”

Marco makes a suspicious noise, sounding as though he’s about to refuse, but Ace doesn’t want to do this alone. He makes a whine in the back of his throat, and can hear Marco sigh in response. “Yes!” he cheers, knowing the noise as Marco’s defeat, and blows a kiss into the phone as he hangs up. “Be there in twenty, Marco. Adiós!”

* * *

Easily the worst thing about being on a date with Law is that Sabo can't stop thinking about Ace. Ace's face when Sabo would first link arms. Ace's face as they talked over dinner. Ace's reactions to the movie, or Sabo's cheesy jokes and flirts.

He tries so hard to pay attention to Law, because _Sabo's_ the one who asked for this- but every time his concentration wavers he ends up remembering Ace's smile and wondering if, on the bus ride home, Ace would sit so close they practically shared a seat.

Law doesn't. Law keeps a perfectly proper distance between them, taking care not to touch Sabo casually, and while before Sabo would've respected that - even appreciated that, loving the fact that Law was allowing a relationship to bloom before ever seeing if they Sparked - now, he's impatient.

Now, he's acclimatised to _Ace_ , his easy laughter and easy smiles and easy touches. They drive him mad, in a way that no-one has ever managed to do, and Sabo can't help but dream about the faint possibility that Ace knows more about how his Sparks work than he lets on.

But, that's all speculation on his part anyway. Speculation based on what he knows of a years-old story, and on Ace himself, and what he can do. Speculation based on what he knows about Sparks and what he knows about people.

It’s a shot in the dark that Sabo even has a chance, one that he’s terrified to take, and so when Law mentions a passing interest, Sabo had jumped at the chance.

And now he can measure exactly how far he’s fallen.

As Law walks him up the path to the uni dorms, Sabo keeps having to remind himself that the person next to him isn’t Ace, that holding hands would be a bad idea, that this was a _date_ and he should’ve been more respectful, instead of thinking about Ace _all the time-_

But it is very, very hard to do. They stop in front of Sabo’s dorm, and then pause, and Sabo feels as though he should be offering at the very least a kiss on the cheek for the time spent and the enjoyment he’d had but-

He can’t bring himself to move closer. “I had a nice time tonight,” is all he offers, and Law gives a small nod, a smile gracing his cheeks.

“I admit, I had reservations at first, but did enjoy myself. I found myself pleasantly surprised when you showed up looking- as you did.”

Sabo grins a little at the memory, and then has to try and banish it because all he can think about is how Ace had stepped oh-so-close. “I had some help.”

“Portgas, I presume.” Law says, and there’s that same hint of a smile playing on the curves of his mouth that Sabo had seen on Rouge’s this afternoon. He feels decidedly transparent, especially considering that at _least_ two people today have figured out about his affections.

Sabo hears something crack behind them, and his brow furrows. Law glances into the darkness, but only seems to spot something that makes him raise his eyebrow. When Sabo turns to look, though, Law grabs his shoulders and leans in and more than one alarm bell goes off in Sabo's head.

He steps back hurriedly, almost tripping on the steps, and Law quickly leans in to help him regain his balance. He’s almost ninety percent sure he’d heard a swear then, but it must’ve been Law, and Sabo’s a little busy stuttering out excuses to really pay more attention. "I'm- I don't really- that's not to say I'm not flattered, honestly but I-"

"You have Portgas." Law said, that hint of a smile curling up his mouth, but Sabo can only stare, trying and failing to find some way to defend himself. "I did have fun tonight, however. If you'd like to spend more time together without us being under the guise of a 'date', I'd be more than willing."

Sabo can feel his stunned expression fading into a small smile, and he nods. "That- that would be nice, I think."

Law nods again and then sets off down the path, and Sabo lets himself into his dorm, rubbing the leather of Ace’s jacket between his fingers.

* * *

Marco’s pretty sure Law’s coming their way. On a scale of one to ten, his sureness could be rated somewhere in the high thousands.

“He’s _not_ coming this way.” Ace hisses at him, but Marco can see that Ace is almost daring for Law to step closer. He looks about ready to jump out the bush and tackle Law if Law doesn’t come to them.

“He’s coming this way,” Marco says quietly, and then Law steps off the path and Ace swears.

“Okay, damnit, he’s coming this way.”

“Told you so,” Marco murmurs, because it’s past eleven and he has a test tomorrow and he’s annoyed at himself for not being able to turn down Ace’s plea for a spying buddy. Why couldn’t he have just passed Ace along to Thatch? They _loved_ playing at being spies together!

Law stops in front of their bush, and Marco grabs Ace’s arm to prevent him from sending Law flying with a few missing teeth.

“I know you’re there,” Law says, just as Marco’s about to say, _‘maybe he hasn’t noticed us?’_

Marco sighs and stands, half-dragging Ace with him, and Ace glares petulantly. “Hello,” Marco says, and Law purses his lips, staring at them,

Marco cautiously lets go of Ace's arm, hoping Ace won’t punch Law in the face. "What are you doing?" Law finally asks, after their brief stare-down.

"Looking for my narcolepsy medicine." Ace replies immediately, quite obviously attempting to glare holes through Law’s body.

"In the bushes?" Law says, disbelieving, and Ace nods.

“Yes. Sabo’s bushes. Because Sabo is my friend. And I visit him a lot.”

“So,” Law says, patronisingly slow, and Marco winces, knowing by the tone they’re caught, “wouldn’t they be in his dorm?”

Ace pauses for a brief moment, looking stuck, before giving up and just glaring. “Shouldn’t you be at _your_ dorm?”

Law’s leer makes Ace bristle, and Marco lays his hand on Ace’s arm to prevent him from doing something stupid.

Law’s eyes dart to the movement, and his smirk seems to still.

Everyone knows about Marco and his gloves and his Spark, after all.

“How about we all just go home, yoi.” Marco offers and he can see Ace rail against the idea. Law, though, takes the offer at face value and uses it to regain his balance, acquiescing with a nod.

“I wouldn’t dream of attempting to detain you,” he says, and then his eyes flick to Ace and Marco considers cursing because Law has a very bad habit of stirring up trouble. “Besides, I’m sure you two have more than enough _fun_ things to do without me. I mean, Sabo and I certainly had some.”

Marco’s grip on Ace’s arm tightens, preventing Ace from launching himself at Law, no matter how much he doesn’t want to. He’d seen Sabo’s flinch just as easily as Ace had, and he knows no-one should flinch when they’re having ‘fun’.

Ace’s eyes narrow at Law’s implications, and he growls, “Whatever you’re trying to say about me and Marco is probably wrong, so fuck off on that,” he says, still bristling with anger. “And if you think I’ll let you get away with hurting Sabo-”

“Well it wouldn’t be the first time someone got away with something around you,” Law says languidly. “I mean, just ask Marco. Really, you would be _crushed_ to know of all the things you never notice. Practically _sparking_ in anger, Portgas.”

His grin stretches wide, teeth gleaming sharp and shark-like, and with a start Marco realises that Law’s pointed comment has been aimed at _him,_ not Ace. He can see from the corner of his eye that Ace is still glaring at Law, but Marco has been treated to a fraction of a second’s glance that’s filled with confusion.

Marco refuses to say a word, jaw set tight. He’s starting to wonder if it’s really Ace that should be held back right now, because his own temper is flaring.

He’d known Law was a bit of a jerk, but this is pushing it, even for him. For half a moment Marco considers just letting Ace have his way, but he knows how badly that will end and so gently tugs on Ace’s arm. Ace holds firm for a moment, still glaring at Law, but then lets Marco pull him away, back towards Marco’s bike.

“Hope you too enjoy yourselves!” Law calls, and when Marco looks back Law’s still standing in the lamplight, chesire grin illuminated gold.

* * *

Ace hasn’t stopped complaining about Law for the past two days, and Marco has found himself wishing – not for the first time – that he’d invested in a pair of earplugs when Ace had first started. He probably could’ve dealt with it, if it weren’t for the fact that Ace just hasn’t _stopped_ talking about Sabo and Law, and yet still continues to make it an absolutely huge deal whenever anyone even gets close to asking if he has feelings for Sabo.

Marco’s running on coffee and aviation facts, he’s in no mood to listen and try to stay patient with a situation that that he hates being caught in, too.

Izo can see him slowly stretched to a breaking point, and when Ace finally stops complaining to Marco on the phone, swoops in and invites Ace to lunch. Marco can’t see how this will help, but hey. Maybe Izo’s finally invented a silencing spell and Marco won’t have to hear Ace ever talk about Sabo again. The thought is entirely petty, but he still can’t help but sullenly think it over as he helps Izo and Haruta clear books from their kitchen table while Thatch cooks lunch.

They have a modest place, thanks in part to Thatch’s position at the uni’s bakery, Izo’s as their town’s resident spell caster, and the slightly not-so-legal activities that the four of them take part in when frustrated (it wasn’t Marco’s fault that their faux fight/street race club had taken off with such vivacity, no matter what Izo always claimed). There’s enough space for all four of them to live without being in each other’s way constantly, and there’s a sofa bed for when they want guests.

It’s also close to the airfield, which Marco loves and Izo hates, but Izo travels frequently for his design gigs and when he complains Marco just points out that he’s not home for long enough to be constantly annoyed by it.

Izo then always makes a point to not tell any of them about when he has partners over, to get Marco back for those reasonable, frequent arguments, because Izo is a jerk with _no_ shame. (Haruta always gets the worst of it though, which he does feel a bit sorry for considering she’s one most embarrassed by Izo’s exploits. In Marco’s defence of her anger towards him for annoying Izo, he’d voted _against_ having an innuendo-loving aromantic and two sex-repulsed asexuals living in the same house.)

When Izo is especially mad, however, he calls Ace - who lives only a street over - and makes pointed remarks about Ace practicing his anatomy, and oh, wouldn’t Marco make a perfect model?

Marco’s waiting for Ace to start yammering about Law and Sabo as soon as he steps through the door, but happily enough he finds himself disappointed. Izo takes control of the conversation and they spend almost half an hour talking about things that _aren't_ Sabo, and Marco feels like crying in relief. Is that what his brothers felt like when Marco first fell for Ace?

If it was, then he definitely owes them an apology and a thank you card for not trying to kill him. More than two days of those sort of babbling would've been enough to drive any sane person up the wall.

He's almost ready to start holding out on the hope that Izo can keep Ace’s attention away from Sabo all night when Izo misses a beat and asks how Kidd is doing with his garage.

Talking about Kidd leads them to talking about Law, and before Marco can signal frantically for Izo to change the conversation, Ace is once again complaining about Law and Sabo, and the date he and Marco had spied on.

“It’s not even like they Sparked!” Ace says, and Marco bites his tongue, feeling heavy, irrational anger in his throat.

Ace had never cared about Sparks before, and the sudden shift in interest, just because of _Sabo-_

Well, it makes Marco take back his earlier thoughts about Sabo being persistently hard to dislike. He finds himself quite easily detesting the concept of ‘Sabo’, even if he doesn’t actually hate Sabo himself.

“You don’t have to Spark to be attracted to someone,” Izo points out rationally, preventing Marco from saying something he’d regret, and Marco turns his attention back to his plate, stabbing a piece of chicken with extreme prejudice. “There _is_ a difference between a Spark and simple attraction.” Ace flaps his hand with a sigh, taking a sad bite of his food.

“I know that, Izo, I just- I’m just jealous, and it’s stupid!”

Izo hides his cough artfully, taking a sip of water as though it were only to clear his throat. Haruta has already claimed a highly important assignment that’s due soon, and is reading at the table to try and ignore the painful, awkward irony.

Thatch, the fucking idiot that he is, opens his big mouth.

“You could do the same,” he suggests, grabbing a piece of chicken, and Izo coughs for real this time, choking on his water and slamming the glass down on the table. Thatch doesn’t seem to realise, ignoring the pointed glares and various impolite gestures, and takes a bite of chicken. When he next speaks it’s through a mouth full of meat and only half-intelligible, “Date someone, get Sabo jealous so he takes off his gloves, va-bam! He’ll prove you Spark.”

Ace’s expression slowly begins to brighten, Thatch’s plan hitting all the right points, and Marco shares a panicked look with Izo.

Izo shrugs, expression twisted in painful apology and Marco turns his attention back to the table as Ace gazes contemplatively at Thatch, and then switches his attention to Izo, eyes wide and pleading.

“Oh _no_ pretty boy,” Izo says, holding his hands up in front of him and glaring. “I love you, but not _that_ much.”

Ace’s attention almost immediately switches to Marco, and literally all of his head starts to yell _no_ at the same time. This is such a bad, bad idea, he knows it right down to the marrow of his bones, it will end with heartbreak and pain and he’ll never be able to live with himself if Ace touches him while Marco is surprised and they Spark. He’d ruin Ace’s plans-

It’s awful, the moment that realisation hits him.

That he could play saboteur, that he could stop Sabo and Ace from ever touching and finding out if they Sparked, without even doing anything.

He could ruin this whole thing with one easy movement; slip off his glove, slip his hand into Ace’s, and Sabo will know, just like everyone else does. That Ace is Marco’s Spark.

Ace clasps his hands in front of him, leaning over the table and pouting. “Marco, _please_? I’ll do your dishes for a month!”

But Marco knows he never could. Not when Ace looks so _happy._

“Pretty sure you already owe me that, yoi,” Marco says, trying to fight for time, but his resistance is crumbling like it always does and he finds himself nodding.

This is such a bad idea.


	2. date me / hate me

When Ace leaves, Marco grabs a cushion, falls onto the couch, and _screams._

Izo’s shoes clack as he starts in surprise, but Marco doesn’t have the heart to feel bad. There’s a brief moment of still silence, and Marco tries to muster a grin, imagining his brothers noiselessly arguing over who handles this potential disaster.

Thatch loses, judging by the quiet groan, but it’s only fair; this whole situation is _his_ fault.

Marco’s mood sours again, and even Thatch gently patting his back does little to soothe him. “I can’t fucking believe you,” he mutters, and can feel Thatch’s hand stop a bit as he winces.

“In defence, I didn’t think he’d actually do it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Thatch huffs, the very sound conveying how offense he finds Marco’s remark. “ _C’mon,_ ” he says, nudging Marco’s shoulder. “At least he sees you as a potential date?”

“After he went through you _and_ Izo,” he mumbles, trying not to feel like he’s sulking. His attempts fail utterly, and he buries his face even further into his pillow.

“Marco, c’mon!” Thatch cajoles, trying to tug his pillow away, but Marco refuses to relinquish his grip. Thatch has already ruined more than one thing today – Marco isn’t going to let him ruin the only good thing so far.

Well, not that sulking into a pillow is a good thing, per say, but Marco’s tired and upset and so far neither of his brothers has done anything to make him feel better.

“Marco,” snaps Haruta, and Marco tries to hang on to his last vestiges of peace. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Haruta was more than slightly scary when it came to forcibly cheering up her family, and Marco has been her victim more than once during the years when he hadn’t figured out how to separate his feelings for Ace as a friend versus his feelings for Ace as Marco’s soulmate.

“Yes, Haruta?” he tries, praying that she’ll leave him alone, but the couch squishes as she switches with Thatch and sits down, and Marco frowns at the insides of his only friend.

“Stop moping.”

 _Nope,_ Marco thought to himself, _no peace to be had here. My hopes are unfounded._

“I’m not moping, yoi.”

“You so are. Buck up, stupid! Just ‘cause Ace went through Izo and Thatch, doesn’t mean jack shit! Thatch came up with the idea, and Izo’s naturally going to cause more jealousy. He’s gorgeous, _and_ everyone knows he doesn’t have a soulmate.”

“And doesn’t want one, thank you sweetheart!” Izo calls from the kitchen, “I’m content to bang and run. There are far too many pretties in this world for me to want just _one._ ”

“Ugh, _Izo_!” Thatch complains, and Marco can hear him stomp up the stairs. It brings a tiny smile to his face, and he can tell Haruta sees it when his pillow is suddenly whisked away.

He frowns, pulling himself from the couch to try and rescue his pillow, but Haruta holds it out of his reach and glares at him. “Marco. Ace likes you. A _lot._ And some stupid blond ain’t gonna change that. Sparks happen for a reason, and you _know_ everyone has more than one. Maybe you just haven’t met the right Spark yet, but you had to learn something from Ace. It’s not hopeless, okay?”

“He’s not stupid,” Marco mumbles, trying to ignore the rest of Haruta’s words. He continues when Haruta makes a questioning noise. “Sabo. He’s not stupid at all. According to Ace he’s doing legal studies and politics knows two languages and- well, I’ve had a few conversations with him, yoi.”

“But _he’s_ not that one currently dating Ace.”

“Ace _wants_ to date him!” Marco says, “The only reason Ace agreed to date me was to make Sabo _jealous!_ ”

“Then make Ace jealous,” Haruta says, like it’s so simple, and Marco stares at her. Some of his confusion must show on his face, because she sighs and continues. “If you really want Ace so bad, and won’t leave the Sparks thing alone, then prove to Ace that _you’re_ better for him than Sabo. You’ve known Ace for years – just, I dunno, do something he’ll like.”

 _Do something he’ll like,_ Marco’s mind parrots, but all he can think in return is _Ace’d probably like me not being me._

That is something he’ll never do for Ace, though. He’s fought too long and to hard and his family has drilled it into him for years, and Marco knows that no matter how much he loves Ace, he still has to have space for himself, too. He’ll not change, not out of desperation, and especially not to get Ace to fall for someone who isn’t what Marco wants to be.

He can't help but admit that Haruta is right, though. He has the advantage of his years of friendship, and he knows inside out most of the things Ace likes. He _knows_ Ace, easily as well as he knows himself.

Haruta prods him in the forehead, and Marco finds himself pressed backwards into the couch before he grabs her hand. “Stop that, you pest,” he chides, but he knows he’s smiling and Haruta’s pinched look of concern disappears. “I’ll work on it, alright?”

Haruta slings her arm around his shoulder, bringing him in close to ruffle his hair, and he gives a squawk before elbowing her, and it turns into a wrestling match that Thatch somehow hears from upstairs and joins in on.

Marco pushes all thoughts of Sparks and soulmates out his head, and tries to concentrate on what he can control, and what he can win: which, for the time being, is the playful fight with his siblings.

* * *

 They don't end up setting any rules for their... _arrangement,_ and Marco regrets it as soon as Ace asks him to show up at uni after class, because when Ace sees him he immediately latches onto Marco’s arm and gives him a grin that does stupid things to Marco’s heart. He can't help but send up a prayer of thanks for foresight, though, because he's worn his jacket and the thick gloves that make using his phone a pain in the ass. It means that there's no chance of them Sparking.

He looks at Ace, a question resting on his tongue, but Ace’s attention isn't on him; he's too focused on Sabo, leaning against a wall and idly scanning the surging crowd.

 _Always so focused on Sabo,_ Marco thinks bitterly, feeling a tight grin pull up the edges of his mouth, and he raises his hand to give Sabo a wave. Sabo seems to jolt at the sight of them, and Marco can see the grin on Sabo’s face falter as he takes in their position.

It makes Marco’s chest hurt. Knowing that there's really no need to make Sabo jealous, and wondering how long it will be until Ace figures that out too. Until Marco is obsolete and useless again. Until the closeness he's currently selfishly enjoying is no more.

He wonders, when Sabo and Ace start dating, if Ace will even remember who his best friend used to be. If Sabo will try and keep them separate, because surely he's heard _something_ about Marco and Ace and the stupid, stupid Sparks. Who would want to keep someone like him around, when with a touch he could make Ace so obviously uncomfortable?

“Hey Sabo!” Ace chirps, and it hurts something deep inside Marco’s chest, because he doesn't think he's ever heard Ace sound like that when saying _his_ name. That touch of adoring, giddy, excitement, like this was the first time they'd seen each other in weeks instead of days.

Fuck, how's he going to be able to do this? How's he going to stay _sane,_ knowing he's helping place the outlines of a plan that will ruin him?

“I heard from Law that you guys were out last night, too. Were you on a date as well?”

Sabo looks so innocent asking that question, but it makes Marco grin just a little bit savagely to himself, because he caught the flash of pain in Sabo’s eyes. If he's going to destroy himself, live like this for the rest of his life, knowing he helped his soulmate get with someone else-

Well he's at least going to make sure Sabo deserves it.

“You could say that.” Marco says with a shrug, and he doesn't even have to fake his adoring look when he glances down at Ace, who's still hanging off his arm. “We just figured we'd go out and have some fun.”

_Imply something that could be something more, but nothing substantial. Something that will make him jealous._

He considers grinning, but he's afraid it will come out bitter. How many times has he done this, trying to get the reaction he wants from Ace?

“We should go together next time. Have a double date or something.” Sabo says, and his thin smile is so so strained that Marco wonders at the fact Ace can't see it. _Love really does make people blind,_ he thinks to himself. He can't help but think that even if Luffy - Ace’s “Little Brother” from their Uni’s big brother/little brother program - came up and said Sabo liked Ace, he'd still get blown off. Ace _adores_ Luffy, and values his opinion so highly it's ridiculous, but he'd still rather believe he has to make Sabo jealous than think Sabo already likes him.

“Nojiko’s having a party this weekend, if you wanted to come along. It's just a casual thing, for her and Nami’s friends,” Ace says, and his grip on Marco’s arm tightens just fractionally in nervousness. Marco wants to place his hand atop Ace’s clenched grip, but even with all of- _this_ going on, he knows that it won't be appreciated.

Sabo’s nodding easily though, and Marco resigns himself to being Ace’s date at Nojiko’s party, and trying to valiantly direct Ace’s attention away from everyone else’s well meaning inquiries. This is such a _stupid_ plan, he thinks to himself again, a litany of curses bubbling in the back of his brain, but he keeps a thin smile on his face and bids them goodbye, citing a lecture to help his escape. Ace’ll want to be alone with Sabo, he figures, and Marco doesn't want to get in his way.

Leaning down slightly he lets his lips brush Ace’s cheek, feels the heady thrum in his chest when the tiniest fluttering Spark flickers to life before vanishing as he pulls away, and knows Ace will pass it off as static electricity.

He always does.

In the tiny, tiny moments that Marco steals, Ace never knows any different. Never seems to realise that Marco practically needs the sensation to kick start his heart and keep it beating.

Ace has never realised exactly what he does to Marco’s heart.

* * *

The day of Nojiko’s party dawns hot and clouded, and Marco grumbles as he gets out of bed because it means that the evening will likely be humid. He hates having to deal with weather like this, even if it is gorgeous, because wearing two layers _and_ gloves and jeans turns him into a sweltering lump of irritation. Ace is lucky Marco’s long since decided to never let them Spark by accident again. If he hadn't been so dedicated this mess with Sabo would've been over long ago.

He peels himself out of bed and thanks his lucky stars that he can at least go around in his boxers until Ace shows up later in the evening. If he's going to die via humidity, he wants to relish his last few hours of freedom.

His last few hours of freedom, however, are stolen when Izo drags him from the house and they spend most of the day debating the drawbacks of being a marginalized group (though really, it's more like Izo is complaining, and Marco makes the appropriate comforting noises and suggests ice cream when Izo finally starts running out of steam.) It serves as a welcome distraction however, and when Marco shows up at Nojiko’s party and sees Ace already near Sabo, gazing adoringly, he doesn't immediately turn tail.

He probably should've as soon as Nami mentions games. Introducing _games_ into a group of college students that are drunk (or getting there) is never a good idea, but Marco doesn't run when Vivi calls for _Never Have I Ever,_ knowing full well that she'll win.

“I'm sure you all know the rules, but for the persistently stupid among us-” Nami is saying as she gives Luffy a pointed look, rubbing her knuckles through his hair and making him yelp and swat her, “if you have never done the thing someone asks about, you can keep your finger up. If you _have_ , then you gotta put a finger down. Last person with all their fingers down has to go get the next round of drinks.”

Vivi makes a noise of protest, but Nami only grins at her amid a chorus of agreements. Marco finds himself reluctantly chiming in when Ace shoots him a pleading glance. He really needs to get better at turning down Ace’s requests. Shuffling into the circle, Marco waits patiently for the first question, and they pass the easy questions with no problems. Then the giggling starts.

By this point, everyone's tipsy, or heading there, and the questions start getting stupider or more pointed. They pass Nami (“Never have I ever not stolen something.”) and then it's Ace’s turn, and the look of concentration on his face makes Marco’s stomach twist.

There's a pause, and then Ace swallows and clears his throat.

“Never have I ever been in love,” he says, like he's directing it to everyone, but his eyes are locked on Sabo and Sabo seems to realise, one lip drawn between his teeth. He swallows, looking almost nervous, and Marco’s not sure if anyone else can see the tension that thrums between them, or if he's just looking to hard.

Sabo puts down a finger, and Marco can see Ace’s lips soften from a frown of concentration to a tiny smile.

He can feel his own lips twitch at the sight, because that smile of Ace’s is easily one of his favourites, and then laughs at himself before putting a finger down as well. There's really no point in lying to anyone here, least of all himself.

Luffy makes an inquisitive sound in the back of his throat, leaning on Marco’s shoulder to stare at Marco’s hands, and he shrugs.

“He never said it had to be requited,” Marco says softly, staring at his knuckles and the gloves he's sure he's never taken off while he's been around Ace.

It's almost funny to think about the sacrifices he's made to make sure he can stay close to Ace, but he thinks he'd probably make them all again for another year of Ace’s friendship.

 _Better to have loved and lost_ , Marco thinks to himself, and tries to remember what Izo and Haruta always say about people having more than one soulmate.

He doesn't think he'll ever love anyone as much as he's loved Ace, though.

* * *

 Marco used to dream about scenarios where Ace would realise his own feelings, and their eyes would meet across a crowded room, Sparks coming to life even without a touch. Marco would cross the dark room, and he’d see no other people, so caught in Ace’s eyes, and they’d meet in the middle of the dance floor.

Ace would watch him, almost nervously, and Marco would smile at the sight because Ace almost never let himself look nervous. When Marco’s hand moves to hover between them, Ace grabs it, presses a kiss to the palm, and even through the thick fabric of his glove, Marco would be able to feel the Spark on the sensitive flesh.

Then, Ace would peel Marco’s glove off, lacing their fingers together with an ease that belied comfort and familiarity, and Marco wouldn’t have to rip his hand away at the bare shock of a Spark on his skin. His other hand would cup Ace’s cheek, tiny Sparks dancing to life to flicker around Ace’s hair like a halo - but Ace wouldn’t let Marco make all the moves. He’d pull them close, lacing his hands around Marco’s neck, breath hot against Marco’s cheek because of how close they were pressed.

They’d sway to the music, Marco’s arms around Ace’s waist, so, so close, and in these dreams Marco would never have to worry about the song ending, or the morning’s arrival.

Now he just dreams that as the years pass, Ace will still keep Marco by his side; he could survive with that.

* * *

 Marco’s first attempt at something that could be conceivably a date falls flat because Ace invites Sabo along. Most of that ‘date’ is Marco flailing and trying to cover up evidence of his subtle planning, because _he_ was only informed of Sabo tagging along when Sabo _shows up._

He’s only slightly appeased by the fact that Sabo looks as awkward as Marco feels, having realised that it was _actually_ meant to be a date, even if Ace hadn’t.   

The second time it’s an accident that Sabo ends up tagging along, but Marco just throws the witty one-liner flirts he’d looked up out the window and tries not to look like he’s sulking when Sabo brings out a packet of Hershey’s and asks, “Wanna kiss?”

 _You totally stole that,_ he thinks petulantly, but Ace’s face, flushed red in the darkness of the movie theatre, makes up for it.

Only a little, though.

On date three, Ace finally seems to get a hint, and questions why they’re going on a date, to which Marco answers smoothly (well, if he does say so himself) that if they want to fool Sabo, they should be making memories and being seen on dates, right?

Ace doesn’t seem to realise that canoeing along a river isn’t exactly going to get them seen by many people, and for that Marco is thankful.

The first half of that date is _amazing._ Ace is slightly awkward, at first, but then relaxes and his hesitation vanishes. He points out birds along the river with a delight that makes Marco’s stomach fill with butterflies. It’s everything Marco had idly hoped it would be, and he’s actually starting to think Haruta’s plan would work.

Then, Ace gives a startled shout of surprise and Marco notices the bottom of the canoe has started to fill with water. Ace’s attempt to bucket it out fails, and the next thing Marco knows they’re both in the water, trying and failing to stay afloat.

He decides at that point in time that maybe going taking a canoe trip is a bad idea for two people who only have very, very pathetic swimming skills.

Ace splutters but manages to grab onto the slowly sinking canoe, and they have to struggle back to shore and lug the canoe all the way back down the river.

Marco isn’t sure if he would count that as a success or a failure, considering the rest of his attempts at organising dates end the same way.

They went on a picnic, and Ace convinced Marco to hike up part of a hill. When they got back, the picnic Marco had gotten Thatch to prepare had been swarming in ants. It had been marginally salvaged, but a short while after that the sky - earlier so clear - upended Niagara Falls straight onto their heads.

He takes Ace to an arcade/laser tag park that Haruta recommended, and ends up having his wallet stolen. The employees take pity on him, however, and let him play a round while he waits for Izo to show up with money, but during the round he ends up banging into Ace and falling over. The date ends with Marco in the hospital, nursing a minor concussion.  

The only dates that _don’t_ fail are the ones that Sabo ends up crashing - accidentally or otherwise. Granted, a fair share of ridiculous things occur (how the _fuck_ a study date at the library had gone so disastrously wrong would forever remain a mystery), but somehow, with Sabo there, they’re more manageable.

For example, on the date to the duck pond where Ace had gotten stuck up a tree trying to rescue a cat, instead of Ace trying to jump down and have Marco catch him, Sabo manages to find a ladder. (That particular date doesn’t end with the fire department called, unlike, say, the date where they’d all tried to make cookies. Not that dates where Sabo showed up were _dates,_ though).

In a damnable display of movie cliche, however, when Sabo climbs off the ladder, Ace ends up stumbling and Sabo moves to catch him. They spill onto the grass, legs and arms a tangle, and Marco grits his teeth when he sees how close they land. He has to cough before they startle apart, a deep flush painting Sabo’s cheeks, and awkward laughter spilling from Ace’s lips.

He gives up after that, puts together only half-hearted attempts after Ace asks when their next ‘date’ is laughingly, and tries not to feel like he’s fighting a battle he’s lost a long time ago.

* * *

Ace’s plan to make Sabo jealous lasts for almost two months before Marco starts to crack. It wears on him, the knowledge that there’s nothing he can do to make Ace fall in love with him, that Sabo has Ace utterly captivated, and-

It’s impulsive.

Stupidly, stupidly impulsive, only-

Ace is just pulling off his helmet so that Marco can continue through campus to his own class, and Marco has to force his attention away from the languid shake of Ace’s head to free it from helmet hair. That bare second is when Sabo steps into view behind them, poised to call Ace’s name, and something in him snaps.

It is easy enough to lean down and press his lips to Ace’s. Too surprised to do much but make a sound of surprise against Marco’s mouth, Ace doesn't resist.

For a brief second, Marco feels as though he's being swept away, thoughts tumbling with a dangerous daydream; that Ace wants to kiss him, that Marco isn’t doing this because of his stupid jealousy, that Ace’s hands coming to rest on his chest are going to pull him closer instead of push him away.

He stumbles back, fingers fluttering to his lips for half a second before he can stop the movement. When he looks up Ace is just staring at him, eyes wide, mouth just barely parted in shock.

Marco wants to kiss him again.

Viciously angry with himself, Marco squashes the feeling, jolting his chin behind Ace. “Sabo,” he says by way of explanation, taking a step forwards, and Ace falters before he lets Marco settle his hand round Ace’s waist.

Through the fabric of Ace's shirt he can feel the warmth of Ace's skin, but it doesn't help the disgust churning in his stomach as Sabo waves and then passes by.

This should feel like a victory, but yet-

Yet, all Marco can think about is their kiss. How he’d stolen it without permission, without checking to see if Ace was alright with it, without asking-

It takes him only a second more to realise something else:

They hadn’t Sparked.


	3. again

Sabo’s avoiding him.

It'd taken Ace a little while to realise, because his lips haven't stopped tingling since Marco kissed him, and that sensation has had him more than a _little_ distracted, but when Sabo blows off Ace’s twentieth phone call and won't stay around after their shared COR113 lecture, he knows something isn't right. He's actually not even sure Sabo showed up for that lecture, and Sabo’s come into class dragging behind several tissue boxes and anti-flu medication more times than he can count.

He has to call up Koala before he can find out where Sabo is, and even then he's only guessing that the aborted voice on the other end of the line had been Sabo.

It wears at his patience, scrapes it away like sandpaper, but he _tries,_ because if Sabo’s avoiding him than Ace doesn't want to make it any harder than it has to be, but-

He only lasts a week before he grabs his phone and tries to call Sabo again. In a funny twist of fate, however, as he's picking up his phone, Sabo’s name flashes up and Ace’s heart leaps.

“Hey!” he says, and hears Sabo sniffle a bit before he answers. Maybe he has been sick - it would explain why he was at Koala’s. She's good at strongarming him into things he stubbornly refuses to do.

“Hey Ace.”

For a moment there's a thick, awkward silence, and then Ace gives a small cough, trying to think of what to talk about.

“I- uh- I have notes from the COR lecture, if you want ‘em? I didn't know if you’d gone, was all.”

“S’alright, I was able to get it online,” Sabo says, and his voice gets heavier, like he really is recovering from a cold. _Poor Sabo,_ Ace thinks, and makes a mental vow to ask Koala if he can come over with soup sometime. He can make soup.

Or, well, he could totally help Marco make some rockin’ soup.

“Do you want me to come visit? Me ‘n Marco could bring some soup.”

There's a quiet huff of air on the other side of the phone, almost a bit like Sabo got punched, and now Ace is really worried about him. A chest infection on top of a cold is never good news.

“Gonna be all romantic and mushy in the kitchen? I don't think Koala could take it if you did that here.” Sabo says jokingly, but Ace can't help but think about how strained the words sound, and he can't tell if he's hearing it or if it's just his imagination.

“I promise to leave mushy romantic things out of our soup making,” Ace thinks, and mimes a gag to the inside of his bedroom, because _ugh,_ Marco and mushy romance? No _thanks._ Marco’s his best friend, even if they are kind of pretending to be dating right now.

Even if Marco did kiss him last week.

He rubs his knuckles into the side of his head, trying to get rid of the phantom sensation that plagues him again, but Sabo’s next words put a sudden, harsh stop to his mental turmoil. “I'm glad you two got together. I mean, I know you don't put much stock in Sparks, but even though Marco does he also pretty obviously adores you.”

“I- he- he doesn't adore-”

“I should hope he does, considering how often he smiles like a mushy sap when he sees you! If that's not adoration I don't really know what is, Ace.”

_But he can't,_ Ace thinks, all the thoughts in his head jolting to a stop, and his chest feels like a gaping hole has been torn through it, dropping his heart straight to his feet. _It's fake, Sabo, he doesn't-_

_Marco doesn't_ adore _me._

_“_ Ace?” Sabo says questioningly, but all Ace wants to do is deny what Sabo’s telling him.

_We didn't Spark,_ Ace wants to deny, _we've never Sparked!_

Only- that's a lie.

But Ace had thought Marco’d gotten over him. Years and years ago, Ace didn't want anyone and Marco didn't _care_ if they’d Sparked, Marco’d gotten over him-

_Why would he kiss you then?_ a treacherous voice whispers in the back of his head, and Ace’s grip on his phone tightens so much he can hear the plastic creak. _He put his hand down when you asked “never have I fallen in love”, didn't he?_

_But that wasn't for_ me! He thinks, and it's almost like his head is laughing at him, because there are sickening, churning doubts in the hole in his chest, filling him up with uncertainty. “I- I need to go, Sabo. Sorry.”

Sabo makes a curious little noise, but then stammers out, “Oh, no that's okay. Um- talk to you later?”

“Yeah.” Ace says, and he knows he doesn't sound very committed at all but his head is still filled with this sudden revelation, and all he think is, _Sabo’s got to be wrong._

He ignores the part of his head that's telling him Sabo’s never been wrong before.

It takes him less than a minute to have Marco agreeing to meet him at Uni, and then he's pulling on his shoes and he's out the door, and he's trying to run away from the thoughts in his head but it isn't _working_ and he hates it.

He gets there a bit before Marco, and paces around Thatch’s bakery, but he can't sit still and just _wait._ Before he can think about it he's jogged over to where Marco usually parks his bike, and as he comes closer he can see Marco pull off his helmet and shake out some of the sweat.

“Woah, where's the fire?” Marco says as soon as he sees Ace coming up, giving him that same easy, calming smile he always does, and somehow it simultaneously makes his chest knot and his heartbeat take a break, slowly down till he can think.

“I- I was talking with Sabo,” Ace stammers out, and it feels ridiculous to be saying this but for some reason he can't grin normally and his stomach keeps twisting and he’s praying that it really _is_ as ridiculous as it seems, but somehow-

“He implied that you _liked_ me. _You,_ like _me!_ I mean, how stupid is-”

He knows he’s wrong.

Marco’s expression has frozen, but his chest jolts minutely, and Ace can see it. Like the world has slowed down so he can catch every flicker of movement Marco makes, the silent battle in Marco’s head that’s written in the tiniest flinch that Marco’s body betrays him with.

His words trail off, and his heart thrums painfully in his chest.

Marco likes him.

( _Still,_ his mind adds quietly, and Ace remembers when Marco first started to wear gloves, and how he always wears long sleeved shirts when he knows they’re going to be hanging out together, and never, _ever_ lets their skin touch.

Marco _still_ likes him.)    

Marco’s trying to laugh, now, but Ace can hear the strained hesitation underneath the sound.

If you’d ever asked Ace the things he knew about Marco, he’d rattle off facts with an ease to make Marco’s brothers jealous; he’s got more than enough knowledge of Marco’s habits and a list of assumptions in his head, but number one-

Number one is that he doesn’t care anymore.

( _Marco_ still _likes him._ )

Ace doesn’t even know what he knows anymore. When Sabo had told him how much Marco apparently loved him, Ace had brushed it off as a joke; how could it be anything but?

But then-

Marco has been pretending to date him, trying vainly to make Sabo jealous.

Marco has been his friend for years and years.

Marco has kissed him.

Marco Sparks whenever he touches Ace.

His heart stops, and the feeling hurts more than anything he’d ever considered as painful; it hurts more than thinking Sabo would never like him. Hurts more than when he ended up in the hospital and was forbidden from driving because his narcolepsy had gotten worse.

He’s been hurting his best friend, for weeks ( _years_ ), and he’s never known.

“Ace-” Marco says, almost pleading with him, but Ace can’t help but flinch when Marco’s hand stretches towards him, and his heart squeezes when Marco’s expression simply-

freezes.

falls.

breaks.

His eyes flutter closed, and Ace can see him squeeze his jaw closed, muscles twitching as he lowers his head. “I’m sorry.” he whispers hoarsely, and Ace’s heart is in a vice, squeezed beyond recognition.

Before he can think about what he’s doing he steps forwards and flings his arms around Marco’s neck, burying his face into Marco’s chest and feeling Marco’s Sparks race along his forearms and the crook of his elbow where they touch.

“ _I_ _’m_ sorry,” he says, throat tight, and he pulls Marco closer, feeling how tense Marco is under his hands. “I’m so, so sorry Marco, I just- I don’t-”

 

He can feel Marco’s lungs expand as he breathes in deeply, and for half a second Marco’s head drops, hair grazing his cheek; then, he exhales shakily and steps away, shaking his head. “Please don’t,” Marco says quietly, “I don’t want you- I can’t have you doing this to me again. Please.”

_Again,_ Ace thinks, and something akin to agony curls around his heart, tight and harsh and Ace feels like he wants to drown in the wave of guilt that washes through him.

_Again,_ he thinks, and wants to rip out his own throat when he thinks about all the times he’s given Marco hope, all the times he’d joked about dating Marco, all the casual flirtations that are a normal part of his vocabulary, all the easy touches that are his way of saying to someone _I care about you._

Marco holds himself tall as he leaves, shaking hands jammed in his pockets, and to any unaware observer he looks fine: but he walks past his motorbike, and his shoulders are tense and tight, and Ace feels like he’s choking.

_Never again,_ he promises, and Marco disappears around the corner without looking back.

_Never, ever again._  

* * *

 

Things are-

Messy.

For a long while, things are very, very messy. Sabo knows that Ace and Marco have ‘broken up’, Ace knows about Marco’s Spark, and Marco knows that this time, unlike when they were kids, Ace isn’t going to just _forget._

Marco wants him too, desperately, because it would be so much easier to deal with than the tangle his relationships have dissolved into, but-

It’s probably all his fault, anyway, for being unable to turn Ace down at the start of this, and so he tries to keep breathing and reminds himself that he is good at being patient and nothing can stay broken forever - not even his friendship with Ace.

(he ignores the part of his head that laughs quietly and tells him that Ace could quite easily keep breaking the ties of memory, until eventually there was nothing left to fix, or Marco had given up trying).

* * *

 

It takes Ace two weeks before he will talk to Marco again, but Marco has had years of practicing patience and he pushes Ace’s stammered excuses out of his head. He doesn't begrudge Ace the time or space, because he needs it himself, carefully pulling apart everything he'd slowly built and taken as Ace’s friend, knowing that now, Ace will see none of it as innocent.

No casual bumps or linked arms or knuckles ruffling Ace’s hair, and Marco’d thought he’d been better about not touching Ace until he has to hold himself back, and realises just how many times in a conversation that he will touch Ace. Realises, with a start, that though his number one, careful rule was _don't touch, don't Spark,_ over the years it'd only turned into _don't Spark._

Ace doesn't call him for two weeks, but by next Saturday, when Marco’s in the library his phone buzzes and a text from Ace fills the screen.

[Ace  - 12:04 pm] _Can we still be friends?_

_Yes!_ he wants to yell, feels the desperation in his chest, but he curls around his phone and tells his heart to shut up because that's the reason he's forced to have this conversation.

[you - 12:06 pm] **_Only if you want. I don't want to make you uncomfortable._ **

[Ace  - 12:06 pm] _You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you._

Marco considers laughing, feeling something sharp prick at his eyes. He'd always wanted to be someone important to Ace, had figured that if he did it would take Ace a step sideways to see them _together-_

But his plans have backfired completely. He's too important to lose, and Ace has taken that step and has only seen all the things that could go wrong. Has taken a step forwards with Sabo and left Marco behind.

He doesn't know what to say, though. Doesn't know if he should say _you're my best friend too._

_I care about you. I can't lose you either._

[you - 12:08 pm] **_Did you want to go to the movies sometime? Thatch wants to see the new Avengers. You could bring Sabo, if you think he'd be interested._ **

_Please,_ he thinks, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. The pause between texts is slightly too long, and Marco can only imagine Ace hesitating, but his phone buzzes before he considers regretting his offer.

[Ace  - 12:12 pm] _Sure. Next weekend? Luffy and I were already planning on seeing it then._

[you  - 12:12 pm] **_I'll text Thatch about it._ **

[Ace  - 12:13 pm] _Ttyl._

* * *

 

The movie actually goes better than Ace is expecting. Okay, granted, he’s still stiff when Marco gets bumped into him because of the crowds, but Marco seems to know and almost immediately gets Thatch between them.  

For a moment, it makes Ace’s chest pang painfully, because he hates the fact that he’s the one that’s driven Marco to this, but he shoves it out of his head and tries to concentrate on Luffy’s excited stories.

The rest of the day passes with no other incidents (or, if there are, Ace just hadn’t noticed them,) but once the movie is done he still finds the first excuse he can to escape, citing a bus that he doesn’t want to be abandoned by. Sabo tags along, avoiding his parents for another day, but Ace can’t blame him, and even with the _mess_ it’s still hard to deny how much he wants to spend time with Sabo.    

His mom waves at him as he breezes through the door, Sabo on his heels, but then-

“Where’s Marco?” she asks from the kitchen, and doesn’t realise when Ace jolts, muscles tensing. “I thought he was going with you to the movies.”

“Went home,” Ace answers, and he’s up the stairs just as his mom comes out of the kitchen, flour on her hands and a frown on her face. He can hear Sabo pause, could almost imagine him glancing back, but then footsteps thud on the stairs and Sabo slides into his room.

“You never-” Sabo starts, softly, closing the door as Ace fights with his boots and his stupid jacket. In a second, though, Sabo’s there, deft fingers tugging where the zipper has gotten stuck, and Ace holds still for him, not realising that part of it is Sabo’s plan. “You know, you never explained why you and Marco-”

Ace can’t help stiffening again, staring at the wall instead of Sabo. “Why we what?” he asks, and he wants to avoid this conversation at all costs but Sabo can see his hesitations and barrels through regardless.

“Marco Sparks, doesn’t he?” he asks calmly, but there’s a second of something dangerously protective in his voice. “So, Ace, what happened?”

_He Sparks,_ Ace thinks to himself bitterly, _doesn’t mean I do._

“Sparks are so fucking stupid,” Ace growls instead of replying, and he tugs himself from Sabo’s grip, pulling off his jacket and throwing it at the bed. “They’re fucking stupid, and I hate them, and I don’t-” he shakes his head, trying to clear and reorganise his thoughts, but fuck is it hard to think straight with frustration bubbling in his chest. “Marco- we met when we were kids. And Marco Sparked, but- back then, I never did.”

“And then you got a crush on him?” Sabo asks, like that was the logical conclusion, and Ace blinks at him, taken back.

“What?” he asks, “No, Sabo, we _never_ Sparked. Well, _I_ never Sparked.”

“You don’t have to Spark if you like someone,” Sabo says, careful and slow, and now Ace is just simply staring. “You could be demi.”

“Be what?”

“Well, I think- I mean-” Sabos says, fidgeting with his gloves and suddenly looking rather uneasy with the entire situation. “There are these people who don’t Spark when they first touch their soulmates. They have to get to know them first, and become friends before they ever Spark- and- they’re called demi.”

“Demi?” Ace goes, because he’s heard that word before, but only in conjunction to Greek gods and an art project he ultimately only passed because Marco had helped him with the research. His head is still tumbling with Sabo’s definition, though, and it almost feels-

It feels _right_.

“Yeah. Demi.” Sabo says, like he hasn’t casually flipped Ace’s world around. “And that’s- that’s why you don’t Spark, if you touch anyone. You wouldn’t until after you got to know your soulmate, whoever they were.”

_I want it to be you,_ Ace thinks, and then he’s hit by a memory and a horrid realisation.

Is this why he and Marco never Sparked?

Ace shakes his head viciously. He’s touched Marco before, and there’d been no Sparks-

Only, with what Sabo’s saying, it sounds like Ace wouldn’t know when he got close enough to finally form an attachment to his Spark. And if Ace had only ever been stubbornly seeing Marco as his platonic best friend, then-

He doesn’t know what to do. Sabo’s staring at him, patient, but his gloves are pulled tight and Ace-

This should have been so much more simple than it’s actually turning out. It really, really _really_ should have been.

_One thing at a time,_ he shoots to himself, and takes a deep breath. “If I- if I was demi, and I actually liked someone-” Ace says, slowly trying to piece it together, “then I’d Spark with them, right?”

Sabo nods. “Yeah. So you and Marco would have been fine eventu-”

“We weren’t actually dating,” Ace blurts, and Sabo stops to stare. Ace swallows thickly, biting the inside of his cheek. “Sabo, Marco and I were never- dating. We were never actually dating.”

Sabo’s forehead immediately furrows, confusion easy to read in his eyes, and Ace has to force himself to stop biting his cheek before he breaks through the skin.

“You-,” Sabo asks, trying to figure something out, slowly, “but if you- why would you-?”

_And here it is,_ Ace thinks to himself, feeling his skin prickle uncomfortable even as he orders himself not to be a coward, and just spit out what he came here to say. “I- I convinced him to- pretend. I was- I wanted- I wanted to make you- jealous.”

Sabo’s look of confusion, if anything, grows more pronounced. “Jealous?” he parrots back, and Ace gives a tiny, jerking nod. “But- why?”

And there was the crux of the matter. What reason would Ace possibly have to make _Sabo_ jealous? Why would he have tried, knowing after a month what a stupid plan it actually was?

Why would he have _kept_ trying?

He steps closer, knows right now that what they have is fragile and he can _ruin_ it, and he’s fucking awful at ruining things, the best there is, and he’s-

He’s terrified.

But admitting it?

Somehow, it makes it easier.

He takes another step closer, and Sabo doesn’t stop him from completely eliminating the last of the space between them, even though his hand moves to hover between them. Ace’s stomach knots, but he makes sure he’s nothing but gentle as he takes hold of Sabo’s wrist and presses a kiss to the pads of Sabo’s fingers.

A tiny spark flickers against his lips even through Sabo’s gloves, and Ace can’t help but close his eyes. “I like you.” He says, quietly, head just barely bent to Sabo’s, “I really, really like you. That’s why I tried to make you jealous, because- I don’t know, I just thought that maybe you’d try and prove you were my Spark, and take off your glo-!”

The shock of bare skin against his cheeks makes Ace’s eyes start open, but it’s only Sabo, staring at him with wide blue eyes, like he’s trying to figure out if this is a lie. His bare hands cup Ace’s face, just barely tangled in Ace’s hair, and when he tugs Ace forward gently, Ace’s heart skips a beat.

“I think I like you too,” Sabo whispers against his lips, and Ace is grinning when they kiss for the first time. _Too short,_ is what he thinks, and so he’s still got the same grin on his face when they kiss for the second; third; fourth times.

His grin melts into a small smile by the tenth, delighting in the tiny tingle across his lips that seems to spread down to the tips of his toes, and it’s so different from the first kiss he’s ever had with someone, there’d been no Sparks when he kissed-

_Marco._

He stiffens involuntarily as memory surges to the forefront of his mind, and Sabo pulls away from him, concern on his face. “Ace?” he asks, his hands settling to the small of Ace’s back, and the familiarity of it, how _right_ it feels, helps soothe him for a moment.

“I-” he starts, remembers a spark against the edge of his cheek before he can shake it from his head. “Does this make you my Spark, then?” he asks, grinning, and he can feel how fragile it is but Sabo only grins back and nods.

“If you think you’d be in love with me, someday,” he says, just the hint of teasing but Ace presses his lips to Sabo’s forehead and whispers loud enough to be heard,

“I already am.”  

* * *

 

Marco doesn’t see Ace for about a week and a half after their trip to the movies, and the start of what he hopes will fix their friendship.

When he does see Ace again, he wishes he hadn’t.

_Breathe,_ Marco reminds himself, but the thought is hard to follow through with because it feels like he _can’t._

Ace’s hand is in Sabo’s, loose and comfortable in a way that Marco has wished for as long as he can remember, and Sabo-

Sabo’s not wearing gloves.

(He doesn’t stay long enough to see what colour their Spark is. He can’t. He’s contributed enough to getting them together, he doesn’t want to see his efforts pay off, doesn’t want to know he’s given up on a dream.)

It takes- a while. To get used to.

To know Ace, unobtainable, is now even more so.

It seems like a cruelty when they keep inviting him out to places, but slow months pass and when Marco sees that Ace isn’t afraid (repulsed? angry? upset?) in his presence anymore, he gives Sabo a tiny thanks and tries to ignore how much his chest hurts.

It’s close to Halloween by the time Ace is finally almost one hundred percent comfortable around Marco again, and Marco has spent a week trying to focus on that instead of the fact that time has only bought Ace and Sabo closer together, as well.

He hates jealousy, honestly, but at the same time he can’t help but feel it, like a drowning tide, prepared to drag him under the moment he stops fighting it, and spit him back out to _hurt_ someone as soon as he lets himself feel it.

Marco wants to be happy for them. He honestly, desperately does.

But sometimes getting asked to go on a double date feels like a mockery, and it’s all he can do to hold back a cruel remark.

He gets good at biting his tongue, and only smiles when Ace invites him and a plus one to go to the Halloween carnival that’s come to town.  

* * *

 

The carnival is a mess of hypercoloured fairy lights and screaming children and loud noises and Sabo can’t help but grin, itching to get inside. The haunted house this year is meant to be an award winner, and he can’t wait to see what surprises it has in store.

But Ace, Marco, and Marco’s date have yet to arrive, and Sabo forces himself to stay, waiting impatiently for the first moment he can get inside and try out all of the rides with Ace.

Maybe they could even take a quick go around the Ferris wheel, and Sabo could steal a kiss in the sky and the darkness. He grins at the thought, and then catches sight of Marco and another blond by his side that must be his date. Sabo waves until Marco notices him and heads in his direction, date following along but distracted by his phone.

He doesn’t look very attentive, and Sabo can’t help but let a frown flicker across his face at the sight. Marco deserves so much better than that, he can’t help but think, but forces a grin on his face for the stranger.

“Hey Marco!” he greets cheerily.

“Hello, Sabo.” For a second he almost seems distracted, smiling at Sabo’s face, but he snaps out of it and indicates his date with one hand. “Sabo, this is Cavendish. Cavendish, Sabo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sabo says politely, holding out his hand for Cavendish to shake, but he is only given a brief once-over and promptly snubbed. Sabo’s irritation grows before he quashes it, about to ask if Marco had heard from Ace about where he’d been planning on meeting them.

His ringing phone cuts him off and he shoots an apologetic glance at Marco before he fishes it out of his pocket.

Ace’s name flashes across the screen, and Sabo quickly answers it, unable to deny the smile that flickers on his face. “Hey! Where’re you at?”

“Sabo-” Ace says, and Sabo can feel his smile freeze, knowing that particular tone and trying not to feel disappointed, “I’m so, so sorry. Luffy hasn’t finished this damnable school project and he needs my help.”

“So you’re- not coming, I take it?” he asks quietly, and imagines all his plans for Ferris wheel kisses and sharing jackets slipping down the drain.

Ace makes a sad whine, one that makes the corner of Sabo’s lip twitch up for half a second before crushing disappointment returns again. “I’m so sorry, Sabo. Just tell me how I can make it up to you, okay?”

He gives a tiny sigh, one he knows Ace likely can’t hear, and forces himself to smile again. “Help Luffy get a good grade,” he says, because he knows how important Luffy is to Ace, and he knows Luffy probably needs all the help he can get. “We can always go on a date another time.”

And he’s right; it may not be this one, but they have the rest of their lives, hopefully. He can live with Ace having to skip a few dates to help his brother.

He can hear Ace’s blatant relief through the phone as he sighs, “Thanks Sabo. Love you.”

“Love you too,” he says with a laugh, and flips his phone closed, turning back to Marco and Caven-?

_Oh boy,_ he thinks regretfully, biting his lower lip, _that’s awkward._

He makes a mental note to avoid using Caven-what's-his-face's name in a conversation, just in case.

“Ace?” Marco asks curiously, and Sabo nods.

“Yeah, he can’t make it. Luffy’s got a project due or something that he needs help with.”

Marco pauses, a frown flickering on his face, and glances back at Caven, who _still_ hasn’t bothered to pay attention to either of them. Sabo has steadily been contemplating how awful it would make Marco feel if they just ditched the guy completely, when Cavernface pulls his attention from his phone and goes, “My fans are here now. Bye. I don’t need a lift home,” and flounces away, golden hair bouncing with every step.

Sabo glances at Marco awkwardly, but Marco’s expression is almost the same mix of befuddlement as his own. “Uh-” he says cautiously, trying to gauge if Marco had actually liked this guy or not, “sorry?”

“I’m not,” Marco mumbles, and Sabo gives an unrestrained snort of laughter. Marco turns his attention from Caravan’s back, gazing at Sabo curiously. “Did you still want to- go inside? Now that Ace isn’t coming?”

Sabo purses his lips together slightly, but can’t help but sneak a glance at the entryway. He _does_ really want to go inside, but he and Marco haven’t exactly had a lot of conversations without Ace to play buffer, and he’s not sure what they’d talk about. At the same time, he doesn’t want to go in by himself, and this is the only day he has free for a while.

“Do you?” he asks hesitantly, “I mean, I can get home okay, there's a bunch of buses, but was he your lift or-?”

“No, I was his, yoi. Though apparently that won't be necessary.” Marco’s face gains an annoyed little frown, and Sabo grins at the sight. “If you need a lift I have a front seat free. Borrowed Izo’s car.”

Sabo gives him a half-shrug, fingers carefully tapping against his leg. “As long as it isn't out of your way.”

“Cavendish lived further. Dropping you off at the dorms won't be a problem at all.”

Sabo turns towards the carpark just as Marco turns toward the line for the carnival, and then they stare at each other, both confused.

“I thought-?” Sabo says, making a gesture towards where Marco’s car presumably is.

“Didn't you really want to see the Haunted House?” Marco asks at almost the same time. They blink at each other, and then Marco says, “I heard you talking about it with Ace.”

“Oh,” Sabo says, shifting and rubbing at his forearm. “Well, yeah, I do, but I- I don't want to make you uncomfortable?”

Marco’s frown deepens, and then realisation flashes across his face, and Sabo can see his tiny bored movements stop. He looks tense, now, and Sabo regrets bringing it up because now he _knows_ he's the one who's made Marco uncomfortable.

Marco musters a grin, and Sabo knows they both have realised what he meant, but Marco merely says jokingly, “Promise I won't hit on you. No matter what my brothers say I prefer to have at least two conversations before I ask someone out.” He pauses, and then adds with a look over Sabo’s shoulder, “Cavendish notwithstanding.”

Sabo laughs, because that's the easiest way to break the tension, but also because it would be kind of funny, to have Marco try and flirt with _him._ Marco’s head over heels for Ace, and the both of them know it.

“Cavendish _left_ you standing,” Sabo says, and he feels like he should link arms with Marco but he doesn't know if Marco would be okay with that and so instead starts to walk for the carnival’s entrance. “But don't worry, I've got your back. We've both been date dumped, so it looks like we have to find solace in each other.”

“Or curse them,” Marco says mildly, and this time Sabo really does laugh for real, grinning at Marco’s casual tone.

The rest of the evening passes like that, a little bit awkward, a little bit of hesitance in everything they do, but as time passes by and Sabo starts to learn more about Marco (he loves rides that go upside down, or anything with height and speed, but if you stick him on a carousel, he looks like he'll throw up), it fades.

Up until they reach the haunted house.

They're in the middle of a conversation about who would _really_ win if it were a battle of plants vs zombies when they reach the front of the line, and as they step inside Sabo’s all set to continue their conversation.

The door slams shut behind them.

Sabi jumps, feeling his skin crawl at the darkness that stretches before them. Marco steadies him almost on reflex, hand in the small of his back, and Sabo grins at him in thanks, taking a cautious step forwards. He hates small, dark places, a reminder of the times when his parents were displeased with him, and even with Marco by his side he can still feel his heart race.

Low lights flicker to life, and his pounding heart starts to slow. Marco glances down at him when he sighs in relief, and Sabo silently tells him it's alright. This haunted house is shaping up to be more and more promising, and as long as that doesn't happen again Sabo knows he'll be fine.

The lights start to move, slowly, and Sabo can see them begin to edge forwards, closing in on him and Marco. “Come on then!” he says with a grin, taking a bold step forward into the unknown, “Who knows what these lights will do if they catch up to us.”

He waggles his fingers, and Marco, who'd been staring at him, jolts into action and follows after.

The rest of the haunted house is like that, scary to the point of fun and adrenaline, and walking it with Marco makes it so much better because Marco has the most amazing voice for a horror movie vibe. Just a bit hoarse and low when he whispers, sending shivers racing down Sabo’s back.

He's glad Marco’s not one of those assholes who try and pick apart scary things for the sake of sounding smart, because Sabo’s dated people like that and they're boring as hell to hang around.

He wonders, kind of idly in the back of his mind, why he's thinking about dates, but most of his attention is caught up on the fact there _still_ hasn't been a jump scare.

He knows it'll happen, because all the best haunted house have the creepy chainsaw wielding maniac or cut-out cardboard ghost, and he thinks that's why they've held out for so long. Get anyone who knows Haunted houses all amped up, but then spring it on them when least expected.

They're in the middle of the mirror maze when it happens.

Not a jump scare, but something that still sets Sabo’s heart racing.

He'd turned a corner, expecting more mirrors but instead there'd only been a long, dark path. Stepping forward feels like stepping out into nothing, and he knows this is probably an aro’s work but it still doesn't help his rapid heart, nor his panicked head.

And then suddenly there's a touch on the small of his back and instinctively Sabo lashes out and in the next second sees Marco reeling back, clutching his face.

“Oh my god!” he almost shrieks, quickly rushing to Marco in an absolute fluster, “Oh God, I'm so sorry, holy shit- are you okay?”

Marco makes a strangled noise, nodding, but Sabo can't help but flutter around him, eyes wide with worry as he tries to figure out how to help.

“Punch like that you'd definitely survive the zombie apocalypse, yoi,” Marco jokes hoarsely, and Sabo gives a startled bark of horrified laughter.

“I really don't-” he starts, but Marco casts him a grin and Sabo can't help but smile back, trying to cover it because holy _fuck_ he'd just punched Marco _in the face._ On a list of _really, really_ stupid things, this one is extreme.

“Shotgun you for my zombie survival team,” Marco says, taking a step forwards and coaxing Sabo to hesitantly follow along the dark path. “You can punch them out and Thatch will feed us, and Izo will- throw potions at them, I guess?”

Marco pauses, looking thoughtful, and Sabo takes another step closer, following as Marco heads into the darkness. Marco’s hand settles softly against the small of Sabo’s back when he draws close, and Sabo leans into it, trying to remind himself to breathe.

Halfway through the darkness his head is screaming at him and he's torn off part of the skin inside his cheek, but he can see flickering lights in the distance and the hope they represent makes something in his chest loosen.

That's when they drop the jump scare.

Sabo gives a strangled scream, latching onto Marco’s arm, just brushing his bare hand. For a brief second, a tiny jolt passes through them. Tiny Sparks flicker amongst the LEDs and flashing lights, and he feels his heart stop. The beheaded body jerks in front of them, and the path of darkness stretches behind them, still, but Sabo can't focus on anything but the quick flash of blue.

For half a second, Sabo can’t convince himself that it’s one of the lights.

But it has to be.

There’s no way it could be anything else, he _has_ his soulmate, he _adores_ his soulmate-

He stares, heedless of the occasional, muffled scream from behind them, and swallows. Then, he realises they’re still touching, and pulls his hand from Marco’s arm as fast as he can.

Marco stares at him.

“That-” Marco starts, and Sabo can see in the dim light that his face is all furrowed and panicked. “That wasn’t-?”

“No,” Sabo says quickly, desperately, and he repeats his words like saying them twice will make them true. “No, I’m with Ace. I’m with Ace.”

Marco’s expression closes off.

His gaping mouth shuts with a click.

“Yeah.” He says, turning back to the darkness and trying to find the way out, “I know.”


	4. better to have loved

It doesn’t take them to long before they find their way out – there’s a few close calls when they almost brush against each other again, but after the second time Sabo claims a chill and pulls on his jacket again.

The rides are starting to shut down, and it seems eerie now that the sounds have started to dull. Only music can be heard streaming into the cool night air, and Marco glances upwards to try and see if he can spot the stars now that some of the carnival’s lights are out.

Clouds cover the sky, though, and he gives a small frown, directing his attention back to Sabo and refusing the urge to brush against him. To see if their skin would Spark again if they touched.

Their conversation is filled with quiet, meaningless things as they exit the carnival and start the trek back to Marco’s car, but then Sabo stops.

Obligingly, Marco stops with him, trying to see Sabo’s face in the shadows cast by the tree he’s frozen under. He breathes out a huge sigh, and then seems to gather his courage.    

“Do you- do you still like him?” Sabo asks, and Marco can’t help but hesitate, unable to stop staring at Sabo, trying to read what he wants Marco to say. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want-”

“I won’t steal him from you if that’s what you’re worried about,” Marco mutters, wishing that his heart would stop aching because the words were _true_ but God it still somehow hurts so much to say them. “I’m just glad he’s happy.”

Sabo’s silent again, and the night seems frozen around them, heavy with the weight of something that should be said – is it an apology? An admittance?

Rain begins to drip on Marco’s shoulder before the silence breaks, and then suddenly the clouds tip buckets; water pours down around them in a flash, and Marco can’t help but splutter, feeling his hair start to get plastered to his cheeks and his neck.

Sabo doesn’t do much better, and neither of them stick around to continue their conversation. Marco takes off running for Izo’s car, fumbling for the keys at the same time. Now that he needs them, of course, they’re nowhere to be found, and he fumbles in his pockets before he finally manages to pull out the keys and unlock the car.

He slips inside with a sigh of relief, hearing rain drum on the roof. As he silently prays for Izo’s car to _work_ , Sabo collapses onto the passenger seat, lips brimming with laughter as he tries (and fails) to brush water off his hands.

The engine rumbles to life, and he heaves a mental prayer of thanks, flicking on the headlights and the windshield wipers.

Marco peers out into the darkness and purses his lips, careful. The mood from before is broken, but he doesn’t want to be forced into an awkward conversation if he offers to take Sabo home-

At the same time, though, unreasonable protectiveness surges in his chest at the thought of Sabo trying to make his way home in this weather, and he gives a quiet mental sigh, relinquishing the battle before it takes to many casualties and he has to admit to more than what he wants too right now.

“What’s your address, yoi?”

Sabo looks surprised, blinking at him, and water drips off his eyelashes and glimmers on his lower lip. Then, he smiles and Marco forces himself to concentrate on Sabo’s eyes instead, trying to convince his heart to keep beating.

“You can just drop me off at the bus stop, Marco. It’s fine.”

_I used to be so much more eloquent,_ Marco thinks ruefully as he struggles to figure out how to get his tongue to co-operate. “I- it’s fine, Sabo. This weather is awful.”

Sabo wavers, staring out the window at the sky, and Marco can see the moment he gives in. His smile is grateful when he turns back, eyes crinkled just slightly at the edges, and Marco can’t help but wish he could delude himself into thinking he hasn’t been noticing these tiny details about Sabo for weeks now. “Thanks,” he says, and rattles off an address that Marco plugs into Izo’s GPS quickly. As he plugs his seatbelt in, however, Sabo opens his mouth with a grin and says, “I hope you don’t expect a kiss on the first date, even if you are taking me home.”

Sabo’s tone makes it a joke, Marco _knows_ it’s a joke, and yet-

The memory of blue Sparks tease his thoughts, and on top of that is the knowledge that Marco’s never kissed anyone he’d Sparked with (Ace is – was – his only Spark, and he’s never ever kissed Ace and felt a tingle of electricity on his lips).

What would it feel like, for skin to touch skin? For a Spark to jump between them as their lips graze, to know that who he’s kissing will kiss him back for _love_ and not curiosity-

Marco’s thoughts stumble to a halt.

There’s an assumption on his part, honestly. An assumption that twists his stomach into smaller and smaller knots, and that’s that Sabo would even kiss him for love.

Because Sabo already has someone he’s in love with.

From the corner of his eye, Marco can see Sabo shift uncomfortably, his head turning briefly towards Marco before he decides to stare at the rain tracing patterns on the windowpane.

There’s a long, awkward silence, and Marco can feel something heavy in his throat as he focuses back on the road.

The ride’s too long when they don’t speak through it, but thankfully the rain has started to slow as Marco pulls into Sabo’s driveway, engine rumbling quietly as the car rolls to a stop.

“Thanks, Marco.” Sabo says, and gives Marco a smile that does something stupid to his chest and makes his face flicker briefly into a frown before he can stop it.

“No problem, yoi.” He returns, offering his own smile back, and Sabo cautiously looks out the window, cracking the door open when he sees that the rain has mostly stopped. As he gets out, however, Marco remembers with startling clarity that Sabo’d been the one to tell Ace originally about Marco’s feelings, and he quickly lunges forwards, grabbing onto Sabo’s jacket. Sabo looks at him in surprise, head cocked to the side, and Marco has to swallow before he can speak. “Look, Sabo, can you- I mean-,” he takes a deep breath, and finally blurts, “Please don’t tell Ace I still like him. I don’t- I can’t ruin our friendship again.”

For a moment Sabo is still, and Marco’s hand tightens on the wheel, unsure about what Sabo's going to do. What if he tells Ace, just to make sure that Marco's never going to have a chance? Sabo is Ace's soulmate, they'd Sparked, but yet...Marco is Ace's best friend.

It had been awkward enough between them when Ace had first found out that Marco had been lying about their Spark – Marco can't stand their friendship reverting back to strained silences and careful excuses.

However, Sabo only pauses in the darkness, and gives a tiny nod. “I promise I won’t.”

Then he slips out the door, and their fingers brush and Marco-

This time, Marco’s the only one who catches the Sparks of blue static that follow their hands.

* * *

 

It’s stupid, how Marco starts to jump when he sees Sabo. For almost a week after the carnival he can’t stop himself from flinching when Sabo shows up, or frowning when he sees Sabo casually lean on Ace and the Sparks that flicker if their exposed skin touches. He knows it’s stupid to fidget when Sabo gets close to him, because he knows that he’s wearing his jacket and he’s wearing his gloves, and _Sabo_ is wearing a jumper and gloves, what does he have to be afraid of-?

But he can’t help himself.

He can’t help himself from tempting fate. He can’t stop ‘accidentally’ getting to close to Sabo before he shies away, not wanting to know for sure.

He can't stop thinking, _touch me again, prove that this was real, tell me you see it too, tell me you_ saw it.

Izo is, of course, the first person to figure it out. For an aromantic, he’s surprisingly adept at figuring out romance. That, or he’s just surprisingly adept at figuring out Marco.

“You and Sabo Sparked, didn’t you?” he says, approaching it without preamble. Marco can’t answer, shocked by the question, but his shock is answer enough to someone as perceptive as Izo. The pity that flashes across Izo’s face stings, even if Marco knows he likely isn't aware of it. “Oh, Marco.” Izo breathes, gently taking hold of his hand and giving a gentle squeeze, but Marco can't stand Izo looking at him like that. Like he would help if he could, but simply doesn't know how. “I'm sorry.”

Marco can't look at him, biting the inside of his cheek. “It's fine, Izo.” He says, breathing it out on a sigh. “I don't want to talk about it, yoi.”

Izo nods, “I- there could still be another Spark, though. People don't just have- one soulmate-?”

“I've had two, Izo!” Marco laughs hollowly, angry, and the sound hurts his throat. He knows he shouldn’t snap at Izo, knows Izo is only trying to help, that it isn’t Izo’s fault, but- false hopes always hurt that much more when they’re ripped away. When he realises they never could’ve happened in the first place, and he’d tried so hard to hope, for nothing. “I found my second soulmate, just like you and Haruta always say I will, and he _still_ doesn't love me!”

He laughs again, shoulders hunching, and then clenches his teeth together, jaw aching. “So- so just stop, alright? Don't- don't keep saying that.”

Izo nods, expression still pained, but Marco can't look at him. He's still wondering what might’ve been, hating himself for wishing that he'd met Sabo first, or had just never met him or Ace at all.

* * *

 

He manages to limit his time with Ace for almost a week, and he's almost proud of himself for the success. He _would_ be proud of himself for such a success, but guilt eats away at him; how's he supposed to explain what happened at the carnival with Sabo?

Or is this one of those things neither of them is going to mention again, like Sabo’s hesitant question?

And then Ace decides to have a study date with Haruta, and Marco’s plans on avoiding Ace until he figures out what to do goes down the drain. As soon as he sees Ace arriving he carefully excuses himself, and misses the hurt that flashes across Ace’s face.

What he doesn't miss is his phone buzzing a few hours later, and when he opens it finds a text from Ace.

[Ace - 8:47 pm] _hey do you mind if I stay the night?_

He wants to say no-

He wants to say yes.

Marco laughs at himself for the indecision, and texts back,

[you - 8:48 pm] **Yeah, don't let me hold you up. Hope study is going well. Tell Haruta I'll bring back dinner.**

[Ace - 8:49 pm] _See you soon!! :3_ Ace sends, and Marco’s in the middle of putting his phone away when another text arrives.

His heart stops when he sees what it is, and for a moment he feels something tighten around his throat.

Then, he shoves it to the back of his mind, convinced it's just a slip.

It has to be. There's no possible way that Ace was thinking when he sent-

[Ace - 8:50pm] _♡_

When he comes home bearing pizza, Ace and Haruta are going over terminology in the warm glow of the kitchen.

He's about to escape again when Ace calls him over and asks Marco to help test them.

And so he stays, careful and quiet, and when he excuses himself to sleep they're talking about Ace staying the night. It's weird to think that Ace will be so close, that he's going to be sleeping over like he used to before this whole mess started, and he almost convinces himself that Ace will be gone when he wakes up, this midnight conversation only a dream.

But when he gets up in the morning Ace’s stuff is still in the kitchen.

He walks into the living room, trying to find Haruta, but all he finds is Ace, drooling over their couch cushions.

Marco can see the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. There are faint purple smudges under Ace's eyes, and Marco, for a moment, allows himself to step forwards and kneel next to Ace, letting the tips of his fingers gently comb Ace's hair from his face.

There are no Sparks.

Marco's eyes go wide at the sight, his hand freezing, and he tries again, pressing his knuckles to Ace's cheek a little harder than he’d wanted in his panic, but there's no flash of blue, no tingle of electricity, and his heart thuds in his throat.

There's no off switch to this. He can't just _think_ that he wants the Sparks to go away and they will, because that's never happened before and he's been trying for years, so why-

When-?

His mind jumps back the weeks, pulling up a memory that he's tried to bury because of the self-hatred that it makes him feel.

There'd been no Sparks when Marco had kissed Ace for the first time. Marco had just taken it to mean that maybe you didn't Spark when you kissed, or that because he'd tried to take something Ace hadn't consented to giving-

But what if it hadn't been? What if it'd been the precursor to _this_?

_But that doesn't make sense!_ Marco's mind yells uselessly, and he remembers the Sparks that'd been visible when Ace had confronted him about it, and hugged him.

He rocks back on his heels to land with a soft thump on the ground, and digs his thumbs into his forehead, eyes squeezed shut.

_None of this makes_ **_sense_ ** _,_ Marco thinks to himself almost uselessly, mind tumbling and twisting, and he almost misses it when Ace slowly wakes and frowns at him. He doesn’t miss Ace’s sleep croaky voice, though.

“Hey-” Ace says, concern clear in his tone even though it’s muddy and rough with sleep, “hey, Marco, what’s wrong?”

Marco lifts his head, heart beating like a drum in the tight confines of his throat, and watches as Ace reaches out as though to touch him, before he stops and seems to realise what he’s doing.

_Of course he won’t touch you,_ Marco thinks bitterly, forcing his hands to unlace and trying to rub the imprints of his nails out of his skin. _Not after he got told you still Sparked._

He shakes his head, trying to tell Ace without words that everything's fine, because his throat still feels like a vice and he couldn’t get sound from it if he tried, but Ace’s frown deepens until Marco manages to croak out, “it was nothing, Ace.”

And then, because he’s an idiot, because he can’t leave things alone, because he’s both too clever and too stupid to know when to leave things lie, knows this is what will get Ace to drop the subject, says, “I just wanted to see if I still remembered what a Spark felt like. If we still Sparked.”

Ace freezes, and Marco can see him swallow.

_He probably feels sick,_ Marco notes in the back of his mind, watching the minuet expressions flicker across Ace’s face. _His mouth will feel like someone’s held it closed, embarrassment and surprise and the first inklings of repulsion before he squashes it._

There’s a brutal laugh building in the back of his throat at that thought, but he holds it back with ease, and watches Ace slowly sit up on the couch, fidgeting with his bracelet.

But when he speaks, it isn’t the diversion that Marco has expected.

"Do you still-" Ace starts, and then stops, like the words are stuck on his tongue. "Do you still like me? Does it- still-?"

He doesn’t even have to finish and it already feels a bit like Marco can't breathe. Like Ace's hesitant question has torn through his chest and wrapped around his lungs and is squeezing until all Marco knows is how much it hurts, but honestly he's been living like this for years and he's lost his breath so many times before that catching it is easier than it used to be.

_I don't know_ , is what he thinks. _I don't know. We don't Spark anymore, but when I look at you my heart still twists-_

"I worked on getting over you," is what he says quietly, but he doesn't mention that he hasn't been successful, doesn't mention that even though he doesn't Spark visibly when they touch anymore, electricity still tingles under his skin.

Doesn't mention that no matter what happens, he'll probably always be that little-bit uncontrollably, irrevocably in love with Ace.

Ace smiles at him, and Marco wonders if Ace knows he's lying.

* * *

_“Do you still Spark?” Ace asked, wanting –_ needing _– to know if he was too late, and without hesitation Marco had replied,_

_“I worked on getting over you.”_

He wonders if this is what Marco has felt like, all those years ago when he realised that the person he liked wouldn’t like him back.

Keeping quiet to hold onto the tentative promise of what he _could_ have. The hope that friendship while fighting desire and adoration would be more than enough.

Ace isn’t even completely sure about what he feels, but what he does know is that he’s lost his chance.

* * *

“I- I think I like Marco.”

Sabo stops, blinking at Ace. When Ace stiffens under his hands, gaze fastened on the wall, Sabo carefully resumes combing his hands through Ace’s hair, trying to get Ace to calm before Sabo speaks.

Ace seems to take his silence as the prelude to something awful, however, and blurts out frantically, “I love you.”

Sabo can’t help the laugh that spills from his lips.

“I know that, stupid.”

Ace blinks, and his tension bleeds into surprise.

“Oh,” he says, and Sabo grins, gently tugging on Ace’s hair and scratching his nails at the nape of Ace’s neck, making him shiver.

“But, I- like someone else. The same way I like you.”

“Marco,” Sabo says plainly, and can see Ace fidget. Then, half to himself, “But it seems different if it’s Marco, doesn’t it.”

Ace sighs, resting against Sabo’s leg, and Sabo stops petting him because Ace’s turned to look at him, expression both helpless and serious at the same time. “It shouldn’t be.”

It shouldn’t be different if it’s Marco, but if it’s Marco whom he shares Ace with, Sabo doesn’t think he’d mind.

“How do you know? It’s not like anything to do with Marco has ever been particularly easy to understand.”

Ace gives a small laugh at that, but his fingers still trace meaningless shapes on Sabo’s skin, following that path of Sabo’s almost non-existent freckles and old scar tissue.

“I don’t think he likes me anymore, though,” he admits quietly, and Sabo bites his lip, pulling Ace close and pressing a kiss to his forehead, because that’s a new, hard-to-handle scar, and he doesn’t know what to do but try and offer a bandaid to Ace’s still-bleeding wound.   

* * *

Sabo isn’t expecting to see Marco the weekend after that conversation, but while he’s shopping he finds himself almost quite literally running into Marco. It takes him a moment before he jumps to the realisation, and then he grins, feeling the slight strain. His hands tighten on his shopping basket, and he’s glad that he wore a jumper today, not just because it was cold.  

They chatter as they pick up their groceries, discussing everything but Ace, skillfully dodging what’d happened at the theme park with a skill that was almost impressive.

As they walk out and realise they’re both going the same way, however, the ominous gray sky of the morning finally breaks and sends rain pouring down.

The rain strengthens from a drizzle to a full thunderstorm in a matter of seconds, and Sabo can’t help his sudden, scrambled squawk. Laughter pours from his lips, and Marco ends up standing there and staring at him.

“C’mon then!” Sabo shouts, grabbing Marco’s hand and pulling him to the closest shelter, which happens to be his bus stop, “Unless you _want_ to get soaked.”

Marco doesn’t hesitate after that, and Sabo can feel Marco’s hand slip more firmly into his own, fingertips pressing to the back of his hand. They sprint the last stretch to the bus stop, hands entangled, and then finally skid to a stop, the rain roaring down around them and wind still whipping through the open-aired shelter.

It sends Sabo’s hair askew, even as he tries to wring some of it off and comb it into some semblance of order, and he can’t help but give up after only a few seconds of struggle. There’s no way his hair will lie flat after that sprint.

Marco shifts quietly next to him, already trying to get rid of some of the water clinging to him, and Sabo realises with a sudden start that they’re holding hands.

_Still_ holding hands, and Marco isn’t wearing gloves. Sabo’s mouth suddenly feels dry, all his senses gently on edge, like somehow this moment has gained some sort of strange clarity.

Marco has soft palms. Soft palms, with only tiny callouses, and his fingertips are cold. Two of their fingers are just barely interlaced, and Marco’s hand twitches as he catches his breath. Pleasant shivers warm Sabo from the inside out, racing through his hand and up and down his spine, igniting butterflies in his stomach and sending tingles like sparks of electricity racing through him.

_Sparks,_ he muses almost idly, and then thought erupts in his brain and his head jolts to his and Marco’s clasped hands. Blue flickers gently along the edges, popping and crackling silently like a mimicry of the lightning outside, and Sabo can’t help his instinctive reaction. He yanks his hand away, a low cry on his lips as he stumbles backwards and shakes his hand, trying to get rid of the stubborn Sparks still clinging to his skin.

Marco, eyes wide with surprise, jolts forwards to catch him until he sees what Sabo is doing. Then, he stops, hands frozen to help before he returns them to his side.

Sabo’s throat feels tight when Marco turns away from him to stare out at the rain, rubbing his thumb along the side of his knuckles. Sabo can almost imagine him still feeling the phantom tingle of Sparks upon his skin, thoughts consumed by the smallest sensation of them that still remains.

The slate grey light makes it hard to see Marco’s face; the shadows cast by the roof make it even harder, and yet-

Yet, Sabo can still see the tiniest downturn to Marco’s mouth. It pulls at his heart, plucking sinews out of place and resettling them into some sort of unidentifiable, painful shape. He doesn’t know what to say. It’s a weird feeling for someone with such a clever tongue, and he latches onto the first thing that he could think of to cheer Marco up;

Ace.

“I- I think he likes you,” Sabo admits, the barest lie colouring his words because he doesn’t _think,_ he _knows_ . He doesn’t have to specify who he means, because Marco’s head has already jolted backwards, and Sabo can see the streetlights reflected in his wide eyes as Marco stares. “I mean,” he continues, “I mean, I’m not saying that because I don’t want to date him, because I _do_ and he makes me happy and I know he likes me but I- he- likes you too?”

Marco’s face twitches, lip curling just barely into an almost-shown snarl, and then Sabo watches him take a shaky breath, gritting his teeth. “Sabo-” he starts, long, angry, his voice gravelly and eyes squeezed shut. “If you think you’re doing me a favour by trying this. By- throwing me a bone, or whatever you think you’re doing-” he sighs this time, pure exhaustion pulling at his shoulders, “it doesn’t help, Sabo. It just hurts. A lot. So- just don’t, alright?”

Sabo’s heart twists again, tighter and more painful at the soft tone in Marco’s voice. The quiet waver at the end, the defeat that seeps into every word. All at once, he can imagine how this must feel to Marco, torn for years between being someone’s friend and being hopelessly in love with them.

He just looks so _sad,_ and so small, in a way that Sabo’s never seen before and though he knows it’s silly, Sabo can’t help but think that he’d do anything - _anything_ \- if he could just get Marco to stop looking so heartbroken. He wants to wrap his arms around Marco’s shoulders and pull him close, press a comforting kiss to Marco’s forehead-

His thoughts jolt to a sudden, brutal stop.

_Kiss-?_ he inquires to the idea, the thought half-formed, but even as he thinks it he tries to shove it from his head.

It’s the Sparks, the Sparks have to be affecting him-

And yet, Sabo can’t help but wonder why the Sparks are even there at all, if they don’t mean something. He still doesn’t believe that they’re _perfect,_ like with any system they have flaws but-

Marco is _Marco,_ the same person who couldn’t stand Sabo walking home in the rain. The same person who treated him civilly, even as Sabo stole his soulmate - one of the only things he’d dreamed about and longed for - away from him. The same person who just now showed Sabo something purely vulnerable, without expecting anything in return, without even wanting Sabo to do anything.

Marco just wants to be happy and Sabo wishes from the very bottom of his heart that he could help.

_I think I like Marco,_ Ace had admitted, but Sabo hadn’t said back, _I think I may too._

“What bus are you catching?” he asks, instead of following that thought, and Marco’s eyes flick to him, something shining on his cheek that Sabo can’t look at, instead rooting through his shopping bags to find his umbrella.

“I live close by. I was going to walk home, before- this.”

“I have an umbrella in here somewhere,” Sabo says, “I could walk you home?”

For a moment Marco looks like he’s going to protest, but just then Sabo finds the umbrella and snaps it open with a decisive ‘ah-ha!’ He steps into the rain and tilts the umbrella so that less water can sneak under the edge. Marco hesitates for another moment before he steps under the umbrella, his jacket doing little to hide the warmth that radiates off him as they are pushed together, trying not to get wet.

“Lead the way!” Sabo says, trying to stay chipper, trying not to think about how easy it would be to sneak his hand into Marco’s pockets and tangle their hands together again. It’s a stupid thought, a stupid, stupid thought, and he doesn’t know _why_ he can’t get rid of it. He grips the shopping bags just a little tighter, hurrying along in the rain with Marco quietly directing them, his voice smooth and soft.

Gold glimmers on the pavement and the puddles as they draw up to Marco’s house, well-lit and welcoming, and the sight almost takes Sabo’s breath away. It’s a lovely place, with a slightly ramshackle garden, and it looks even lovelier in the cold rain.

“Marco-” he starts, then aborts what he was trying to say, unsure why he’d even started.

They pause on Marco’s doorstep, rain still pouring down around them and pattering loudly on the umbrella and Sabo bites his lip, breathing out slowly. Marco’s whole face is flushed from the cold and their walk, lips as red as one of Ace’s bracelets, and Sabo’s throat feels tight.

_I want to kiss you,_ he thinks, and the desire surges in him like a tidal wave, so strong that it knocks him off his feet and he can’t think. It doesn’t even feel like his body is his own anymore.

He leans forwards, just slightly, can see how Marco’s breath hitches and his chest seems to jump. He can _feel_ Marco leaning forwards too, watches from the corner of his eye as Marco’s hand grabs the umbrella as well, falling neatly over his hand, warm and bringing with it that same tingle as before. This time, he knows without looking that there are Sparks racing along their hands.

His fingertips graze Sabo’s wrist, gentle and soft and Sabo wonders if Marco can feel his thundering pulse through that simple touch even as he rocks forwards to the balls of his feet. They’re so, so close, now, close enough that Sabo can hear the tiny puffs of Marco’s breath, the warmth of it on his lips-

Marco turns his face away.

Sabo freezes, heart in his throat, and when Marco quickly moves his hands away and won’t look him in the eye, Sabo can feel it sink and sink and sink.

“Thanks for walking me home,” Marco mumbles, and then he slips through the door and closes it with a quiet click.

Sabo is left standing on the front step with rain trickling down his neck, an icy tendril seeping away the warmth that Marco has left behind.

* * *

 Izo’s standing on the other side of the door, just like Marco knew he would be. He looks like he’s trying to hide his hopeful expression, in a way that makes the anger in Marco’s chest grow. He narrows his eyes into a glare, and can see Izo flinch back, confused.

“So...” Izo starts, trying to hold onto that optimism. “That was Sabo outside, wasn’t it? Are you going to invite him in?”

“No,” Marco says shortly as he pushes past Izo and into the kitchen. “I don’t want to run the risk of _someone_ casting a spell on him, yoi.” He dumps the groceries and then pauses as though a thought has occurred to him, turning to Izo and snapping, “Oh wait. Too late.”

Izo’s lips press together tightly, and all Marco can think, viciously, is that he should look more like he regrets what he’s done. That he should feel the same hurt that hit Marco’s chest at the moment when he realised that Sabo wasn’t planning to kiss him of his own free will.

“I am not in the habit of casting random spells,” Izo says, still holding onto this veneer of innocence, and Marco laughs hoarsely, wishing he could rip his nails through the shield Izo is trying to present.

He shakes his head, and then fastens Izo with the most deadened, angry look he could muster, and articulates it slowly, so that his brother will feel every word. “I hate you, Izo.”

Izo flinches, a shiver racing up his spine, and he immediately spits, “Marco, that’s not fair!”

“You forced him to try and kiss me!”

“I can’t force _anything!_ ” Izo bites back, teeth bared. “That’s not how it works!”

“Yeah? Then explain why Sabo’s eyes weren’t _blue._ ”

Izo flushes under his makeup. “I- okay, well I technically did _something,_ but-”

“ _Something?_ ” Marco says with a derisive snort, “You used your magic on him, and got him to do something he never normally would’ve thought about.”

“Well he _must’ve,_ because Magic can’t just force people to do things, Marco! I mean, there are spells that can change the way someone feels, but the one I used- it just helps you figure out things that might’ve taken a little longer than normal to figure out.”

“Yeah? Well I can figure out pretty fast what I’m feeling about _you_ right now. Don’t need to force me to ‘figure it out’ with your stupid, useless magic!”

“Marco-” Izo says, and he looks heartbroken, but Marco just can’t find it in himself to care right now. “I just wanted to help.”

“I don’t _care,_ Izo. I never _wanted_ your help!”

Anger races like electricity along his limbs, buzzing and buzzing and supercharging his muscles, but no matter how upset he is he still can’t find it in himself to hit Izo. Instead he slams his fist down on their table, and lashes out at the wooden chairs, a soundless cry of fury leaving him.

He knows it’s irrational, knows that half of this anger isn’t even directed at Izo, but he rips through the kitchen, forearms clattering against the doorframe, pots and pans and plates thrown and shattered, and then, finally, he hears Haruta’s tiny voice, tentative and scared, and slowly collapses into the middle of the mess he’s made, resting his head in his knees.  

“Marco?” Haruta asks again from the door, and then hears Izo whispers to her evenly, voice refusing to betray the fear he knows is rolling off Izo’s posture.

Marco sinks his head deeper into his knees, wrapping his arms around his body, and tries to deny how his breath is starting to hitch.

He’s not good at denying anything, though, and the first shudders hit in a way that makes Marco wish, more than anything in the world, that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

That there was no such thing as Sparks, or soulmates, that he’d never fallen for his best friend or then managed to fall for his best friend’s boyfriend, that he’d never longed so dearly for a Spark because now he’s had two and-

The only thing they’ve given him is heartbreak instead of the fairy tale ending he’d been promised.

Marco feels tears begin to drip down his cheeks, landing on his thighs, and he finds he can’t stop them. Izo curls around him silently, pulling Marco to his chest, and then a mournful sound fills the kitchen, low and plaintive and heartbreaking, and it feels, finally, like Marco’s heart is breaking and slowly pulling itself out of his chest piece by piece.

It feels, finally, like the months of silence have finally gathered enough strength and are marching their army along the battlefield Marco’s been trying to win, leaving bloody footprints in their wake and a cry of sorrow to sow the first seeds of grief over what could have been – what never will be – behind them.

They stay like this, curled around each other, until Marco is finally silent and exhausted, slowly drifting off in Izo’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Izo says quietly, and Marco gives a tiny sigh, refusing to move like he knows he should.

“Me too.”

He doesn’t specify what for, because there’s a lot of things he’s sorry for.

He’s sorry for meaning it when he’d said _I hate you_ to Izo. He’s sorry for ruining their kitchen, he’s sorry for never taking his family’s advice when they’d started to see how torn up Marco was becoming because of his situation with Ace. He’s sorry for even thinking he had a chance.

He’s sorry he’d ever Sparked.

_It is better to have loved and lost to have never loved at all,_ floats to the forefront of Marco’s mind, but Marco only lets Izo pull him closer and thinks about all the disasters that _love_ has caused.

There is no benefit to falling in love.


	5. team ass-bo and the aviator

“I tried to kiss Marco.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

“Oh.”

There’s a moment of silence where Ace tries to process this new information (Sabo’d tried to kiss Marco? Sabo _wanted_ to kiss Marco?) but Sabo is already tapping his fingers against his desk, expression drawn in a taut frown.

“He was- talking about you. About his feelings for you, and- I just-” Sabo stops uselessly, and Ace feels his muscles tighten. “I don’t know why.”

“Does there have to be reason?”

Sabo grins. “Yes, Ace. Unlike you, I don’t go around throwing myself on every available body for no reason.”

“Yeah, that’s me, biggest slut in the universe,” Ace says sarcastically, his own teasing grin bright on his face, and Sabo steals a kiss before it fades because when Ace looks like that he just can’t help himself. It derails their conversation for a moment, because Ace is a big fan of kissing and Sabo is a big fan of anything to do with Ace, but Ace pulls them back to it, asking curiously,

“Why do you _think_ you wanted to kiss him?”

Sabo pauses, and Ace watches him roll the words around his mouth, eyes flicking to the window. He breathes heavy, careful, and then looks Ace in the eye and admits, “I wanted to see if the Sparks meant anything.”

Ace straightens, feeling like someone’s jammed an iron rod down his back, and swallows thickly, eyes wide. “You- and- you and Marco-?”

Sabo fidgets slowly, shifting his weight, and Ace can see how his grip on his desk tightens. “Remember that one date we were going to go on at the carnival?” he says quietly, voice just edging hoarse, and it’s almost funny in an awful way, to realise that Sabo is afraid. “We’ve been Sparking since then.”

“That’s-” Ace says, and he swallows again. The fact he can only just remember that night seems to prove how long ago it was, but this is tearing Sabo up inside and Ace clamps down on his own feelings. There’s time enough for that later, when Sabo’s not looking like the only thing keeping him from escaping is his tight grip on his desk. “And here I was thinking that blowing off one date wouldn’t have any consequences at all. Suppose this is just the universe’s way of telling me not to ignore my Spark.”

Sabo laughs hollowly, the sound pulled from him, but Ace can see the relief in his smile as he slumps. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” he whispers, and Ace gets off Sabo’s bed so he can kneel before Sabo’s chair and take his limp hands.

“You still told me,” he says, and Sabo looks like he’s going to protest but Ace won’t let him, knowing they’ll get sidetracked if Sabo tries to claim guilt or make Ace feel angry. “And it’s hard. Sparks are hard, and confusing, which is only right, I guess, considering they’re part of biology and biology is hard _shit_ -” Ace grins at Sabo’s smile, and stands up, easing his cramped thighs. “Besides, doesn’t this mean that if _I_ like him, and _you_ Spark with him, that there’s a whole _set_ of new possibilities?”

Sabo looks taken back, and Ace suddenly winces, asking, “You do like him, right? You don’t just Spark-?”

“I wouldn’t kiss someone I didn’t like!” Sabo says, nudging Ace with his shoulder, but Ace can feel the comforting squeeze of Sabo’s fingers around his own. Ace leans his forehead against Sabo’s and grins.

“We’re totally gonna have to get a cool-ass team name. Like, I dunno, Team Asbo and their plan to win the Aviator!”

“ _Ass_ -bo?” Sabo asks, looking at him like he’s an idiot, and Ace gives Sabo a shit-eating grin.

“It’s a work in progress.”

_We’re a work in progress,_ Ace muses, thinking about all the times they’ve muddled through situations without the cheat sheet that comes when you Spark, _but I don’t think I’d have it any other way._

* * *

 

See, the crux of the matter is that Marco knows, logically, intelligently, that he is third wheeling to the nth degree. That he needs his space, that he needs to figure things out, that he should just _leave them alone-_

But, emotionally, every time Ace or Sabo invite him somewhere, he can’t find it in himself to turn them down.

He’s so _stupid_ to do this to himself, pushing himself close even as he tries to figure out how to learn to breathe again, how to live with the knowledge that he’s placed his last bet, made one last-ditch gamble and has still lost everything. He needs space he won’t grant himself, trying to force himself to survive and act _normal_ even though he feels like he couldn’t be normal again if he tried.  

Sabo and Ace don’t help.

He’d thought that trying to expose himself would help, would build up something like an immunity, but there’s a casual adoration to each of their interactions that has Marco swallowing past a tight throat and feeling sicker than before.  

And then, something changes.

He doesn’t realise, at first.

They’re so casual that he doesn't realise he's being invited along on what are essentially dates, that Ace isn't just leaning on him but practically cuddling into his side, that Sabo has taken to grabbing his gloved hand to show him things.

He stops feeling like a third wheel, and he hates it because at least then he could remind himself he was an interloper, that he can't take more than what is offered, but it feels like they're offering everything, and it makes his chest hurt because he _can't._

He doesn't want to live like this, so, so close and yet so unfathomably far away. It hurts, every time he has to remind himself not to run his hands through Ace’s hair, every time he has to say _don't kiss them; they don't want that._

_They don't want you._

So he concentrates on making sure his hands don't linger, on giving Sabo and Ace space during their dates, on telling himself to stop thinking about Sparks and what would’ve happened if either of them believed in destiny.

And so he misses a lot of things:

Sabo’s eyes dart to his mouth when Marco thinks about what to eat, because Marco’s got a habit of chewing his bottom lip.

Ace has steadily been stealing space in Marco’s room, and more than a few of Marco’s shirts for a drawer in Sabo’s room.

And, most important of all, one day when they're playing video games together in a mess of pillows and blankets and popcorn, Marco misses the half-a-second curious glance that Ace shoots Sabo, and he misses the subtle grin that Sabo gives back.

What he doesn’t miss is Ace’s palm on his chin, tilting his head to the left, and Ace pressing a kiss to his mouth, teeth catching on his lower lip and a Spark crackling in his mouth like he’s been eating pop rocks.

Ace pulls away, attention drawn again by the game, but Marco is completely and utterly stunned, lips tingling with phantom warmth and his whole body singing.

Ace jumps to his feet a few seconds later, controller hoisted in the air as he cheers and grins like a loon, but all Marco can do is stare.

“Ace,” Sabo says, disapproval clear on his face, “you’re a giant cheat.”

Realisation dawns on him slowly, and if before his body was singing, then now it drones mournfully, playing him a funeral march as he realises that Sabo-

Sabo’s told him Marco’s secret.

His heart aches at the betrayal, and he grits his teeth, lips curled as he snarls, “You said you wouldn’t tell him.” Marco can feel the plastic of the controller start to creak in his hands. Sabo only holds his hands up in surrender, though.

Ace starts to frown. “Told what?”

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Sabo says, still staring Marco in the eye, but Marco can feel his hands shake and the game still blares in the background and his lips tingle from the Spark and-

“Then who did?” Marco demands, lips curled into a snarl. “You’re the only one that would.”

“Told _what?_ ” Ace asks again, pausing the game and sitting on the table in front of Marco, and Marco can’t help but let his eyes flick to Ace. His expression is earnestly confused, brows furrowed, but Marco’s known him long enough to catch the hint of nerves and hesitance, waiting for Marco to say something about his-

Kiss.

Marco can’t help but glance helplessly at Sabo, demanding an answer, but Sabo only shakes his head. “I promised not to say anything, and I always keep my promises.”

“About what!” Ace bursts out, aggravated, and Marco forces his hands to let go of the game controller in his hands before he breaks it.

“It doesn’t matter, Ace,” he says, trying to keep his tone even and pushing Ace’s kiss from his head. He’s not going to look at Ace. He’s not. “Are you going to unpause the game, yoi?”

There’s a moment of silence; heavy, like a storm brewing. Then, Ace says, “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”

Marco stops. His first thought is _Ace doesn’t have any secrets,_ but as he pulls his gaze from the frozen TV screen, Ace’s gaze is completely serious. “Ace, I don’t want to-”

“I really like you.”

The words freeze in his throat.

There’s no way he can mistake that intent, the steel grey of Ace’s eyes as they bore holes through his chest, leaving destruction in their wake once again as they reach his heart.

_Ace likes him._

Marco snorts, jaw clenching. He can feel his eyes start to burn, and blinks rapidly, something akin to fury and heartbreak mixing a burning Molotov cocktail in his chest. “That’s not a secret,” he says through gritted teeth, and watches as Ace’s expression morphs into shock, words on his tongue before Marco cuts him off. “That’s a lie.”

And then Ace is staring at him silently, mouth frozen open and Marco feels much the same; a statue made of ice, only his heart is cracking and breaking apart, too cold to consider beating.

It hurts so fucking much. It hurts like a stab wound, like the first time they’d kissed, like the day Marco realised the reason Roger and Rouge had kept him and Ace separate, like the first moment Marco had figured out that though he might’ve been in love, Ace most certainly wasn’t. It hurts like the moment he realised he'd found and fallen for _two_ soulmates, that he should've at least been able to have one, but the universe has turned around and grinned at him, sticking up its proverbial middle fingers.

“Marco-” Ace starts slowly, hand reaching out and face pinched in concern. “I’m not lying.”

He can feel his heart shrivel, like someone’s grabbed it and started squeezing.

The funny thing is, he’s not sure if the sensation is painful or not.

“But- you don’t like me.”

He sounds almost-

confused, even to himself. Sounds desperate and distraught and utterly, utterly confused.

Even as he says it he knows he’s hanging onto something that isn’t solid any more, the facts have changed and gravity’s upside down, only Marco doesn’t want to let go and trust physics to let him fly. That’s what this is to him, the laws of the world upended, the way everything’s always worked suddenly twisted. How’s he supposed to trust letting go, when every time he’s done it before he’s hit the ground?

“Yeah, I do!” Ace says, and Marco feels like someone’s punched him in the gut. He’s breathless.

“He does,” Sabo chimes in quietly from the corner, and Marco’s attention snaps towards Sabo. “He was complaining about what to do for ages after I told him you and I had Sparked.”

Marco’s mouth moves uselessly, gaze flicking between the both of them. Ace is perched on the edge of the table, staring him down, and Sabo, though he looks more languid, shifts restlessly as they wait for Marco to speak again.

“But you-” he starts softly, “you’ve already Sparked. You don’t need me, yoi.”

“But I want you,” Ace says, and this time Marco can’t help but pinch himself. Pain surges through his arm, and Ace’s expression morphs with shock and concern, even as Marco realises that this isn’t a dream.

_Ace wants him._  

“You-” he says breathlessly, the words ringing in his head.

_Ace wants_ him _._

“You don’t have to,” Sabo says, almost mumbling, and he thumbs one of the scars on his arm almost nervously. “I just thought that it would be a good idea. He likes you, you like him, problem solved.”

“But what about you?” Marco says with a frown, and Sabo starts, looking surprised.

“What about me?”

“You’re- are you really okay with this?” Marco says, and Sabo shrugs easily, giving a small smile.

“I’ll love him either way,” he replies evenly, but from the corner of his eye Marco can see Ace frown.

“Sabo likes you _too,_ ” Ace declares suddenly, and Sabo’s face flushes. His impassive expression is broken at Ace’s admission, gaze torn from Marco.

“So you- both wanna date me? As-,” he can almost not say it, something expanding in his chest, painfully pleasant, “As…Sparks? As my soulmates?”

Ace nods slowly. “And you wanna date us?” he asks, and Marco nods almost automatically, barely able to comprehend what this means.

_Sparks._

Twin grins blossom on Ace and Sabo’s faces, and Ace, who’s closer, leans forwards, cupping Marco’s cheeks. A Spark zings between their skin, and he can feel his heart leap, like it had all those years ago when they’d first met.

Only this time Ace smiles back at him, and Sabo is leaning against his shoulder, and their lips touch-

And with a certainty that he can feel to the tip of his toes this time, this time he knows that everything is right.


End file.
